


The Black Queen's War

by Mina_Harry3



Series: Black Queen [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Dark Magic, Familiars, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Not Canon Compliant, Past Child Abuse, Prophecy, Rituals, Runes, Sacrifice, Voodoo, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-03 22:19:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 36
Words: 188,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19473355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mina_Harry3/pseuds/Mina_Harry3
Summary: Hello my loves, I'm back again for more thievery!! (And in case you've been ignoring authors notes throughout literally the whole series, it's not actually stealing cause I admit it's not mine, as much as I wish it was. Belongs to the wonderful SilentlyWatches on FFN and I'm merely borrowing...)So sad to have this coming too an end, this series has been so amazing to read and share with all of you!! Thanks for your lovely comments too guys, I'm trying to take the time to go through and answer all of you.Anyway, happy reading!!





	1. Endangered Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my loves, I'm back again for more thievery!! (And in case you've been ignoring authors notes throughout literally the whole series, it's not actually stealing cause I admit it's not mine, as much as I wish it was. Belongs to the wonderful SilentlyWatches on FFN and I'm merely borrowing...) 
> 
> So sad to have this coming too an end, this series has been so amazing to read and share with all of you!! Thanks for your lovely comments too guys, I'm trying to take the time to go through and answer all of you. 
> 
> Anyway, happy reading!!

**The final act of this story. Writing this book is going to be a bit of a bittersweet experience for me, especially as we get closer to the end. The desire to tell Jen's story was what pushed me into writing in the first place, and now that it's coming to a close? Yeah, I almost don't want to finish it.**

**But all good things and that jazz. Welcome to the beginning of the end.**

* * *

**Chapter 1  
** **Endangered Lies**

Jen jolted into sudden wakefulness, her heart beating a panicked tattoo in her chest. Several figures she could make out in her bleary vision, and she hurled a brace of lightning bolts at her attackers before they could get another curse off. Thunder boomed, and she called up green death around her other hand—

"Whoa, whoa! Stop stop stop!"

Blinking her eyes clear, she now saw the five members of her family huddled behind Dora's shield. "What happened?" she demanded, dismissing the Killing Curse and sending her senses through the wards over Grimmauld Place. Herself, her family, Kreacher in the kitchen. No one had slipped in without their notice, no one had disturbed the wards. What had sent her in such a panic, then?

Sirius cleared his throat. "Uh, that might be my fault. We – the Marauders, I mean – had a spell we used to keep ourselves awake after spending the whole night working on a prank. We need you up and alert for this conversation."

And between her paltry resistance to magic and her normal paranoia, him trying that had sent her over the edge. She took slow, deep breaths and ran her fingers through her hair. "Please don't do that again. I thought we were under attack or something." Her eyebrows furrowed when she took in the white nightie she was wearing. "Who changed my clothes?"

"I don't think putting clothes on you counts as 'changing' them," Andi said, crossing her arms with a faint huff. "And whether you like sleeping dressed or not is the least of our concerns right now. We're a little more worried about why you've been sick on the summer solstice for three years in a row." Jen tried her best to keep her sudden resurgence of panic from showing, but Andi and Dora's narrowing eyes were proof of her failure. "The first time, we thought you got sick after being kidnapped and exhausted your magic fighting it off. The second, you had just fought Voldemort, so maybe the same thing could have happened. But you didn't do anything like that this time, and what's happening to you doesn't match any disease we can find. A fever and coma that starts suddenly the night before and goes away as soon as the sun goes down again? There's something unnatural about this. How about you tell us what's going on?"

She gave them a weak smile. "I'd really rather not."

"Tough luck. Explanation. Now."

Glancing around for help, she saw that even Cissy, the witch who was supposed to be her ally when her darker nature brought her in conflict with the rest of their family, was looking at her with steely determination. Great. Worse, she knew that in other circumstances, their suspicion and determination might be the right way for them to approach this. They knew something was wrong, but because they did not know _what_ was wrong, they had no idea just what they were asking.

She had managed to talk Dora out of arresting her two weeks ago when the older witch confronted her on her alliance with Priest and Menagerie, but somehow she knew that same trick would not work twice, and especially not with something like this. They were pushing her on her use of _black magic_ , spells and rituals that were not misunderstood or misrepresented but were unambiguously evil. Black magic was considered a capital crime against humanity in any country that had a functioning government, and there was only one sentence ever handed down to those found guilty: immediate execution. Her Auror cousin loved her, that was not in question, but this would be a deal breaker. Yet they really thought she was just going to confess to them that she spent one day a year unconscious because the rest of the year she sacrificed human lives to a dark god in exchange for power?

Her denial caught in her throat, and the corners of her mouth twitched as she suppressed the cold smile that threatened to well up. Now _that_ was an idea. It even had the advantage of being true, from a certain point of view. She needed to hide a few things, obviously, but she had successfully misled Luna whilst the blonde was wearing Ravenclaw's Diadem, the ultimate lie-detector, so this could not be any more difficult.

Luna had broken up with her immediately after that conversation, admittedly, but that did not bear dwelling on right now. She had truth to spin and lies to weave.

"Aunt Cissy, Aunt Andi. Do you remember three winters ago? I wasn't old enough to go with Sirius to the Solstice Ball, so instead I spent the evening with you two and Dora, and we lit the candles for the dead?" Andi nodded, expression lost, but Cissy was watching her curiously. It only made sense that the piebald witch would be the first to start putting the pieces together. She had more of them, after all. "Dora had to ask what the Dark Powers were, whether people actually worshipped them. I didn't."

"Because you worship Death," Cissy interjected. "Your mentor introduced you to that. You said you go off on the winter solstice to give your sacrifices."

Jen pasted on a smile. "That is what I told you, but it isn't the _whole_ truth."

"Then what is the whole truth?" prodded Ted from his spot next to the door.

"Elsie didn't just worship Death. It wasn't that simple. She was one of his priestesses. But she was old and frail, and all her students fled or died when she was accused of practicing Voodoo and chased out of Haiti. For all she knew, she was the last of her ecclesiastic lineage."

"She was looking for a successor."

She gave Sirius a slow nod, not surprised but also not pleased at his queasy expression. He might have been raised a Black, but he was too Light ever to be comfortable talking about the gods and orders of the Old Ways. "She was, and she found one. A little blind girl left abandoned in the snow. She started teaching me almost a year after we met, and when I was eleven, she said I had completed my training and consecrated me as a priestess. Not that I'm that good of a priestess," she said with a small, self-deprecating chuckle. "I have no temple and no flock. I don't even make sacrifices regularly. But I still am one.

"You want to know why I always get so sick on the summer solstice and need a week to fully recover? That's why. On that day, the Dark Powers, Death included, are at their weakest. They retreat to the hearts of their realms until the sun sinks below the horizon and they come out to begin their ascent to the winter solstice." Her eyes fell to the scar on her left wrist. "I'm Death's servant, was as soon as I was ordained and will be until I pass through his realm and enter Guinea. When my god is at his strongest, so am I. And when he's at his weakest? From sunset to sunset, I straddle two realms, my body in the world of the living and my soul reaching towards the Labyrinth." She shrugged and looked up at the rest of her family again. "It isn't anything dangerous. It won't kill me. It's just incredibly painful to me and apparently frightening to you."

Ted shook his head. "If it's nothing, why didn't you tell us about it instead of forcing it to become this big production?"

"Because how in the world do you even start a conversation like this? Especially in this family?" She pointed at each member of the family in turn. "Aunt Cissy is a believer. Aunt Andi believes the Powers are real but not that they're gods. You and Sirius both think this is a bunch of nonsense, you because you grew up in the Muggle world and him because the Light basically rejects religion entirely. And Dora…." Jen frowned. "Actually, I don't know what your opinion on the subject is."

"I don't have an opinion. I don't know enough about what's what to even start making one."

"Mm. That's fair." Her gaze swept over them. "You wanted to know why I never said anything? It's because I could only count on one of you to believe that I was telling the truth, and I couldn't think of a lie that wouldn't sound just as crazy. Instead, I just ignored it."

Andi opened her mouth to say something, but Sirius interrupted, "I'm not saying I don't believe you – I'm sure that's exactly what you were told to explain it to you – but are you sure there isn't some… other explanation?"

"You just don't want to believe that the Powers are real," she taunted back.

"No, I don't," admitted her godfather. Points to him for honesty if nothing else. "I learned about them as a child, just as Andi and Narcissa did. They're capricious, callous, and cruel, and that's the _good_ ones. The evil ones don't bear thinking about, and Death is one of the evil ones. I don't know why you'd want to worship them.

"But that isn't all. I have never, in my entire life, seen anything that can't be explained by magic and reason. Certainly nothing that would have to be attributed to any gods. Why would this be any different?"

The conversation petered out rapidly after that. She had answered their questions, and with a response that none of them had expected in the slightest. This was something they would have to mull over before she had to worry about any continuation. Sirius did offer her an apologetic grimace of a smile before he left; Cissy, on the other hand, walked over and gave her a short hug. Once Jen was alone in her room again, she shook her head and pulled off the nightie before wandering to the bathroom.

Hopefully, that lie would appease their curiosity. As long as they didn't ask for a demonstration of what priestesses did, she should be fine.

* * *

James stumbled into the Order's meeting room, his mind still in the fog of denial and grief that had overtaken him ever since finding out that his son had been kidnapped. But what else was he supposed to do?! Snape claimed that he was trying to find out where Danny was, but James had his suspicions about just how hard the sniveling Slytherin was really working on that, and while Moody had offered to do some digging on his own, so far no one had even the first clue about where his boy was being held.

The longer this took, the more likely…. No. No, he was not even going to start down that trail of thought.

Most of the rest of the Order slowly trickled in, many glancing at the empty chair next to him but saying nothing. He had suggested to Lily that she come, to take her mind off their situation for a little while, but while she had said she would consider it, they both knew what she really meant. She was a ghost of herself, and he feared that so long as Danny stayed missing, that would not change.

Dumbledore finally walked in, Snape dogging his heels, and shut the door. Sitting at the head of the table, the elderly wizard looked over the group with tired eyes. "I know that many of you have taken it upon yourselves to search for young Danny Potter. Please tell me that somebody found something."

The various wizards and witches of the Light looked around with hopeful expressions that quickly dimmed when they saw that no one knew any more than they did. Moody heaved a sigh and shook his head before replying, "The Death Eaters have all gone to ground. No attacks, no recruitment pitches, not even any sightings – or none that can be verified, anyway. They know we're looking for them after what happened, and they're determined not to let us have him. The only good thing," Moody added after a moment, "is that we haven't found Potter crucified in the middle of Diagon Alley or Edinburgh. That means there's still a chance he's alive. And if Snape's guess that Voldemort isn't even in the country is right, that's probably why. They're waiting for him to get back so he can do the deed himself."

"So what have _you_ heard, Snape?" James spat, the reminder of Danny's fate too much for him to tolerate. "I bet your pals are just patting themselves on the back for this and talking about what they're going to do. You're supposed to be a spy. When are you going to tell us what they know?"

"As a matter of fact," Snape said with a superior sneer, "it was only last night that I found out any details at all. For all that ambushing your spawn was a group effort, only one person knows for sure where he is. Bellatrix Lestrange. Rodolphus and Rabastan might know, but she keeps her own counsel far too often for me to say that with any certainty."

Dumbledore nodded sadly, and James forced himself not to sigh with disgust. As great a man as Dumbledore was, he had a blind spot the size of dragon when it came to Snape. How anyone could believe the tripe that dungeon bat spouted, he hadn't the foggiest. "Any details you can uncover, please tell me and Alastor as soon as possible. Does anyone else have any news to share?" Dumbledore asked once Snape had given his grudging consent.

It turned out that no, no one else had much of anything to talk about, and the meeting soon wound down to awkward silence. James rose to chase after the fleeing spy – no matter what Snivellus said, he knew the Dark wizard was not really trying that hard to find his son, and he refused to let that Slytherin bastard waste time when his son's life was hanging in the balance – but before he could do anything, Dumbledore called out, "James, if you could stay behind for a moment."

"What?" he asked once they were alone in the room.

"How is Lily handling this?"

"About as well as she can. Which is not very." Unable to keep his temper down, he accused, "You know Snape isn't telling us everything. Why are you just letting him get away with it?"

Dumbledore shot him a look of paternal disappointment. "James, I know you two do not care for each other, but Severus is doing what he can. I have told you before, I would trust him with my life—"

"But it isn't _your_ life that's in danger, is it?"

A moment passed in mutual shock. Opening his mouth to apologize, his words died in his throat when Dumbledore raised a hand. "That…. That's fair. Perhaps trusting Severus is too much for me to ask of you. But if you cannot trust him, can you at least trust me when I say that I am doing everything I can to find Danny and bring him home? That I would not do anything I felt would endanger him?"

"No, I trust _you_. It's just…."

Thankfully, Dumbledore let him trail off and changed the subject. "I did not see Sirius here tonight. Do you know if he was planning to attend?"

"I have no idea. We…. Well, we haven't talked much lately."

"I see. I certainly hope I'm wrong," the older wizard said softly.

"Wrong? About what?"

Dumbledore grimaced uncomfortably. "It is likely just a rumor, but I have heard through the grapevine that there has been talk of a push to have your family deemed a client House to House Black. I wanted to speak with him about it and make sure that was not an idea he was truly entertaining."

"A client House?" That made no sense at all. For all that he and Sirius had been the best of friends during Hogwarts, neither of them had ever made any deals regarding their Houses, him because his father was the Head of the Potters until 1977 and Sirius because he was not even in considering for becoming Lord Black until he was already in Azkaban. After Sirius's escape and retrial, there had been other… issues…. "Jenny."

"I'm afraid so," agreed Dumbledore. "Even if she is still pretending to be Lestrange's daughter, she has a valid claim to your House. Before, it wouldn't have held up in front of the Wizengamot; by calling herself illegitimate, she gave Danny the stronger claim. With the whole world knowing that he has been kidnapped? Unless we can find him soon, I am sure the Dark Sect will side with her should she push for Danny to be declared dead. She would then be your only living child and, 'illegitimate' or not, your only heir." The former headmaster shook his head. "And after everything she's said and done, I do not believe that she would leave the Black name behind to take that position, not when she could instead call for your absorption."

James stared at him in surprise and pained disbelief. "No. She wouldn't do that. She bears us a grudge, sure, but she wouldn't go that far. Would she?"

"She has spent the last three years in close contact with the lady Malfoy," Dumbledore reminded him.

By Merlin, that was true!

"Why?" he whispered to himself. "How could she hate us that much? Not just to ignore us or blow us off, but to try to wipe her entire family tree out of existence? Just so she can keep pretending to be a Black?"

A thin hand came to rest on his shoulders, and he looked up to find Dumbledore looking down on him with sad eyes. "I'm sorry that I had to be the one to bring you this news, but I thought you would want to hear it from me rather than be blindsided during a Wizengamot session. And it may be nothing but a baseless a rumor at the end of the day; not even my sources were sure of its validity."

"Even if it's just a rumor, I wouldn't be surprised if Malfoy heard it and decided to make it fact," James grunted. "But it won't matter, right? Not after we save Danny."

Dumbledore pursed his lips, no doubt holding back some cruel but well-meaning statement about it really being a matter of _if_ they saved Danny. "Of course, James. That's right. All we have to do is save Danny."

* * *

The return to the shores of Britain was not to cheers or chaos or even a few celebratory murders. No, Voldemort returned with the same subtlety with which he had set out the year previous. Partly that was because he did not want to attract attention before his new creations could catch up.

And partly that was because he was not quite sure what he would be returning to. As much as he expected Lucius had managed to keep Bellatrix under control, there was no way to be sure.

A dozen people in black robes and silver masks waited for him at his arrival point on the Southhampton coast. He had alerted only a few of his most trusted servants of his return, and only once he was already in France to provide them with less time to make trouble. Looking out over the assembled Death Eaters, he commanded, "Report."

One figure stepped up and spoke in Bellatrix's voice. "We have done as You commanded. The Ministry has spent so much of their time and efforts protecting the Muggles that they could not stop us from finding more recruits and getting rid of a few… troublesome individuals. The world is ready for You to take Your rightful place."

"Excellent. And what of your attempts to make inroads with potential allies already in the Ministry, Lucius?" Silence hung heavily on the coastline, and his ruby eyes swept over the sea of black fabric, trying to pick out the small difference that distinguished Lucius's mask from the rest. Where was he?!

Thaddeus Nott, the eldest of his line, cleared his throat. "My lord, Lucius is no longer among us. He passed through the Veil this April. It was illness that struck him down."

"Illness? Which?"

"I do not know that, my lord. He had been fatigued for some months, but we only learned of its severity once he was dead."

Illness, hmm? Voldemort glanced over at Bellatrix thoughtfully. He _had_ suggested to her before he left that he thought Lucius was planning to betray him, but he had also told her not to kill him. Had she decided to sidestep his command in an attempt to 'help' him? Possibly, but if she were going to kill someone, it would be a direct confrontation. She did not do subtle well, and disguising a murder attempt as a progressive illness would require subtlety. Not that she was incapable of it, no, but it was not at all her preferred method of operation.

"I see. It is a good thing, then, that my plans no longer require the Ministry to be taken with a minimum of force. The assets he has cultivated would be useful, but they are not necessary."

Thaddeus made a sound of surprised confusion. "But our…. I mean no disrespect, my lord, but even with the varied beasts you have attracted to your cause bolstering our numbers, we do not have enough men to make seizing the Ministry at all a guarantee. A political coup would surely be more to… our… advantage…?"

Voldemort hid his smirk. His old schoolmate could not have timed that remark any better had he actually be in on the plan. Turning to gaze out over the sea, the Dark Lord watched with no little pleasure as the new bulk of his army rose from beneath the waves, their trek across the English Channel discomforting them not a whit. "Are these enough to ensure our victory, Thaddeus?"

"I…. What is…?"

Yes, clearly it was enough. And if it were not, he could always make more.

Bellatrix cackled with devilish delight at the figures. "They won't know what's coming for them. Ooh!" Cruel expectation shining from her eyes, she turned towards three other Death Eaters and waved them forwards. "That reminds me, my Lord. We found something to celebrate Your return."

Oh, dear. He glanced at her again. Something about the way she had said that told him that whatever she had gotten up to while he was gone was about to give him a terrible headache. Had he not been in front of the other Death Eaters, the ones who weren't fanatically devoted to him and whom he held in thrall by his poise as well as his power, he would have asked what she had done. As it was, he knew all he had to do was wait.

Grinning like a small child expecting praise from her parents at her unintelligible doodle – or, perhaps more apt, like a cat bringing home a dead mouse – Bellatrix pulled back the hood of the middle man, the only one not wearing a mask.

Voldemort blinked slowly in disbelief as speech abandoned him.

The insane witch laughed again and ran her hands over Danny Potter's gaunt cheeks. The boy, soon to turn seventeen, was in rather pathetic shape all told; in addition to the obvious signs of starvation, one eye had been thoroughly blackened, and the very fact that he was hanging off the figures Voldemort could now identify as Rodolphus and Barty despite the life visible in his one open eye spoke volumes about the injuries currently concealed beneath his robes.

The Dark Lord had only one question. "How?"

"Credit goes where credit's due. My sister's boy, ickle Draco, hatched a plan to trick the Weasley bint into trusting him, and then he told us where we could find her and Potter. The girl's dead, he's here, and even though the whole world knows we have him, no one – _no one_ – knew what we had done until it was too late to stop us."

Oh? Perhaps he had been too quick to judge Lucius's son. The boy's mistake with Black when he had wanted to recruit the girl had earned his wrath, and most deservingly too, but that could have been teenaged impetuosity masquerading as total incompetence. Or perhaps his punishment and his father's displeasure had made the boy grow up if he wanted to avoid being murdered for his stupidity before reaching his majority. Either away, coming up with this on his own had earned him a second look at joining their ranks.

If Voldemort were totally honest, the kind of honesty he showed no one else, he was almost impressed. Using the love-sick adorations of a schoolgirl to target Potter's lust had never occurred to him. It had been decades since he had last chosen seduction as his weapon of choice.

"Did you interrogate him, or was all this just you having fun?"

"He claimed he didn't know anything." She looked down, now all scolded little girl. "Then I just had some fun."

"After bringing him here to me, I will not begrudge you some entertainment. But I do need that information." Gliding forwards, he stroked Potter's cheek and then ripped his finger away, hiding his reaction from his followers as best he could. His skin still sizzled where it had touched the boy's flesh. The protection Potter received from his grandfather, of course. It had been five years since he last felt that searing pain, and he had let it slip from his mind. Now he was reminded. Seizing Potter by the hair this time, he pulled the boy's head up until they were glaring at each other. "I suppose I'll just have to take it myself."

The defiance in the boy's eyes shattered as he ripped his way into Potter's mind. He searched for memories of the blasted Order of the Phoenix, and they came like a flood at his command. Names, faces; not essential information since he was sure his followers could recognize many of the members, but he could still do something with that information. The news that their headquarters was located at Longbottom Manor was welcome, for he had proven that even the Fidelius was no perfect defense. Plans, plans….

He scoffed. At any other time, he would have been happy with the Light's foolish insistence on turning away another wand, but right now it meant that Potter had only the vaguest ideas about what the Order was up to. How irritating. Voldemort nearly pulled out, but then a thought crossed his mind. Sirius Black had fought alongside the Order in the trap he had set up while he attacked Hogsmeade. What would Potter know about the necromancer in their midst? He looked again.

A minute later, he ceased his Legilimency and looked unseeing into the distance. Barely did he notice Potter slump bonelessly into the Lestranges' arms.

"A sister," he whispered to himself. He _knew_ there had been a second baby that Halloween night. He had blown her absence off, thinking perhaps the other child had died in childhood while he lurked in Albania. The fact that no one knew she existed supported that conclusion. That Potter and Black had been born on the same day he had thought only an ironic coincidence. Bellatrix's insistence that she had never given birth was dismissed as the product of thirteen years spent in Azkaban.

And all along, the answer had been staring him in the face.

Now that he knew the truth, how Black had fought him on such even ground made perfect sense. He had wasted his time focusing on Potter, on the much-lauded Boy-Who-Lived, but that title meant less than nothing. _Potter_ was not the one named by prophecy as someone who could vanquish him; _Black_ was.

To make matters worse, he understood Black. The girl was just so much like the woman she had claimed as her mother. All that time he had spent on tasks other than pursuing her death? That was time she had spent working towards his. He had believed all his life that there was no good or evil, only power and those too weak or stupid to seek it. Black was neither. Combine that drive with her destiny and the dark secrets of magic not even he had known about until recently, and she truly could be his equal.

He actually regretted that he was going to have to kill her. Were he still mortal, she would have made a most excellent heir.

But those were thoughts for later. He patted Potter on the head, careful to keep the boy's hair as a barrier between their bare skin. "That was quite helpful, Danny Potter. Thank you for bringing us this information. I can only imagine how much it cost you."

A quiet snicker came from Bellatrix before she sashayed up to her captive. "Too bad, itty bitty Potty. Looks like your usefulness has run out."

"Just get on with it," Potter spat out. Voldemort rolled his eyes and turned away from the boy's empty bravado. He had other things to worry about. "I'm not scared of you. There are worse fates than death."

The Dark Lord stopped in his tracks as a terrible, awful idea made its presence known. Nergui had said that soul magic was incredible in its flexibility, hadn't he? "Did you know," he said, turning around to look down at the mindless figurehead of the Light, "your dear Dumbledore has said that to me on more than one occasion." That earned a superior smile from the boy. "I, of course, disagreed vehemently on just as many. But while I was enjoying my vacation, I realized something. Neither he nor I have ever put that claim to the test, me because there are few instance in which keeping people alive is more useful than killing them and him because he does not have the stomach for torture or murder." He smiled, the expression rather pleasant all things considered. "I guess we'll just have to find out who's right."

"He's already tried to escape," Rodolphus warned. "Did until Bellatrix broke him enough, that is."

"Let me worry about that, Rodolphus." Potter's face paled with the realization of just how terrible his situation was, and Voldemort nodded. "My time away wasn't just so I could find some rest and relaxation. I've been waiting to try out a few things.

"I have plans for how to make Potter a perfectly polite and proper houseguest."

* * *

**Silently Watches out.**


	2. Backroom Deals

**Yes, I know this is really,** _**really** _ **late, and short to boot. What can I say? Work's been murder. Also, I wanted this to span two chapters but couldn't think of anything good to squeeze in the middle, which is part of the reason this just barely breaks 4,000 words.**

* * *

**Chapter 2  
** **Backroom Deals**

"Let's talk."

"Gah!" Sirius spun around with his wand out and had to bite back the curse that threatened to leap from his mouth and focus. "Don't _do_ that!"

Mad-Eye grunted and took a gulp from his flask. He did not look like he cared about the wand pointed at him, which, Sirius had to admit, he probably didn't. Sirius had shaken off a lot of the rust that his dueling skills had accumulated through training both the Auror recruits and the Order, but even then he knew that crossing wands with the grizzled old Auror would not end well for him. He was good, but not that good.

"It won't matter if I ask how you suddenly appeared out of thin air even though you can't Apparate inside the Ministry, is it?" The older wizard just raised his lone remaining eyebrow. "Didn't think so."

Pulling out another chair at the table, Sirius all but flopped into it. The DMLE's Instructor Lounge wasn't much to look at, but it was nice to have someplace where all the trainers could take five minutes to stop and eat or whatever. Running recruits ragged was tiring work, and this was with kids who volunteered to go through everything their trainers threw at them. Looking at the teacher-student relationship from this side, he was almost sorry about all the trouble he gave his professors during his Hogwarts years. After a few seconds' silence, he prodded, "You want to talk? Fine. Talk."

"Haven't seen you at any Order meetings in a while," Mad-Eye said, which was not at all where Sirius expected him to go. "Get tired of it, or did Albus uninvite you?"

He frowned. "Neither. I didn't know we had any recently. I thought everyone was busy looking for Danny."

"So it's the second, then. Can't say I'm all that surprised," sighed the scarred wizard. "Irritated, but not surprised. No, we've had a few meetings. You haven't missed anything, though. Nothing's getting done. Some people are still looking for Potter, but most of them are running around worrying about what we're going to do now."

"You don't sound all that concerned about finding him," Sirius pointed out. Mad-Eye did not have a reputation as a people person; quite the opposite, really. But just not caring about a missing kid was well beyond what he would have expected.

"I saw too many people who were the Death Eaters' 'guests' last time. That's a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, and he's been in their clutches for six weeks now. Would his parents and Albus like to have him back alive, no matter the rest of his condition? Aye. But for his own sake, I hope he's long dead."

He… really wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that, so instead he focused on the Auror's previous statement. "What do you mean, they're worrying about what to do now? I mean, besides looking for Danny, wouldn't we keep doing what we've been doing? Well," he said after a moment's thought, "doing what we're already doing except maybe not getting into pissing contests with the Ministry every step of the way. That'd be a nice change of pace."

Mad-Eye stared at him in complete confusion before throwing his head back and laughing like a maniac. A minute passed before the crazy old wizard shook his head, and Sirius spent the entire time looking between Mad-Eye and the door and trying to figure out if he could slip away unnoticed. "I can't tell if you're a genius or an idiot," he said before taking another swig.

"I…. What?"

"Do you remember what we were doing when we first got together again?" Mad-Eye asked. "We were taking turns guarding a prophecy. A prophecy about Potter and Voldemort. Any of this sound familiar?"

Looking back, he nodded slowly. Now that he thought about it, he did remember that. It had originally been a major concern, but then it had ceased to be an issue. "But Voldemort already has the prophecy. He's had it for two years. If it hasn't helped him yet, why would it suddenly give him the upper hand now?"

The ugly Auror gave him a nasty smirk. "You're dead right, Black. There's no reason it would help him now. 'Cept, that's not what a lot of the Order's worried about. Since the prophecy was about him and Potter, they thought all this time that Potter was the only one who could beat the bastard. The _only_ one. Now that he's been captured, well…."

Sirius scowled in disgust. This was not Danny's fight. Nor his friends', nor Jen's. It was theirs, their mess to clean up. "Sounds like you don't believe that."

"If I seriously thought a half-trained boy was the only person who could kill Voldemort, I'd have blown myself up and saved him the trouble. Doesn't matter what I think, though, more's the pity. It matters what it's doing to morale, and a lot of people look like they're thinking of hiding under the bed and waiting for the end to come for them."

"All right, that's terrible," he said, just as confused now as he was when this conversation started. "What do you expect me to do about it?"

The humor drained from Mad-Eye's face. "Two things. First, I wanted to know if you were being kept out of the loop. Knowing how and where the Order's splitting up is going to be crucial if we want to keep it all together."

"First you say I've been 'uninvited', and now the Order's falling apart? What are you talking about?"

"Albus has his own ideas about how to scrape together morale, but first he's consolidating. He's gathering up everyone he can count on to follow him no matter how bad things get, and from there I guess he'll try to regain everybody else's support. Unfortunately, everybody he's pulling in are the same people who'll believe whatever he says no matter how insane it is. The same people who refused to even consider that he twisted kids' minds while he was headmaster," Mad-Eye said with a knowing gaze and a nod at Sirius's displeased visage. "I think you can see how that's a bad thing. I've been gathering up people on my own for the last year or so, people who don't want the Death Eaters to win but who'll actually think about what they're told instead of treating him as Merlin reborn. I don't know if we're going to need to get in a scuffle with Albus's base or just keep going once his side implodes, but either way, I need as many wands and brains as I can find."

"Do you know why I was hesitant to rejoin the Order?" he asked. Mad-Eye shook his head. "It was because I knew the Death Eaters had to be defeated, but I knew, too, that I couldn't trust Dumbledore, not like I once did. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I didn't see much proof that trust was deserved. If you're trying to save the Order from itself, count me in."

"Glad I have your support, but you better listen to the second thing before you make any promises." What in the world did that mean? "I need to talk to your little heiress."

"Why?"

A long sigh preceded Mad-Eye's explanation. "I'm going to be straight with you, Black. I know she's not Lestrange's brat. Albus told me about her real parents."

Sirius gripped his wand tighter. He didn't see why Mad-Eye would gain from knowing that or what he wanted her for, but after dealing with Dumbledore and James and Lily, he had developed an instinctive reaction to hearing that phrase or anything like it. Every other time it came up, it was soon followed by somebody trying to steal his goddaughter away from him, and that wasn't going to happen. Didn't matter how little he really knew her or what he thought of her life choices, she was _his_ and _theirs_.

Mad-Eye did not seem to notice his tension, or perhaps he just ignored it because they both knew there was little Sirius would be able to accomplish if they got in a fight. "I don't know why she'd prefer to be thought of as a bastard, or why she wants nothing to do with the Potters, or why even the Ministry thinks the lie you've been selling for the last two years is the truth. I don't know, and I don't care. That's a bunch of family drama shite I want no part of.

"But what I said about morale? I need to give them something, or they'll run off. Not the kind of people I want to fight alongside, but that's all we got. If they need a savior and we don't have Potter, his sister's the next best thing."

"I can't say for sure if Jen'd go for this _'backup Chosen One'_ idea. She doesn't like the Order much, thinks we're useless, but I might be able to sell her on it if only because I'm pretty sure she hates Voldemort more than she hates us. Revealing that she's Lily's daughter, though? That would be a deal-breaker." The younger wizard leaned back in his chair. "Not to mention, I don't know how everybody else would handle the thought of her being the only choice. You'd probably get a better response if you sold Neville as their new champion." He thought for a brief moment before a horrifying thought came to him. "You aren't planning on forcing whoever your new 'Chosen One' is into the fight, are you? Because prophecy or no, if we can only win this fight by sacrificing children, I'm gone."

He would move himself and Jen and the whole family to France or Canada or Australia or somewhere before he started throwing kids into the meat-grinder. Far better to be an ex-pat and still be able to look at himself in the mirror than the alternative.

"Don't think it matters what I have planned. They've thrown themselves into the fray without any prompting from anybody," Mad-Eye reminded him. "I can't put Longbottom up on a pedestal. Everybody rallied around Potter because he was the Boy-Who-Lived, even though he never beat Voldemort. After he got captured, whoever takes his place has to be somebody who's proven that they could possibly win. If you can point me to someone else, I'd gladly talk to them instead."

Before Sirius could say anything to refute that backhanded insult, the ex-Auror grunted. "There's also Albus to consider. He had enough issues with me when all I did was get some people together who didn't think the sun shone out his arse. When he finds out I'm basically taking over? He might go ahead and tell everyone the contents of the prophecy, that it has to be some kid _'born to those who thrice defied'_ Voldemort or nobody. Longbottom's parents qualified, but then there's the fact that he's only ever fought the bastard once and got shipped to St. Mungo's after. That's another reason it has to be her. If Albus calls me on it, I'd have the truth to back me up."

"Do you really think Dumbledore would just… just hex us all in the foot like that?" asked Sirius. "Purely out of pride or spite or whatever?"

"I'd like to think not, but I can't say that for sure. He's totally lost the plot. At the worst time, too. I can fight the Death Eaters. I can probably fight the Death Eaters and handle Albus's tantrum. But I can't fight and handle Albus while holding the Order together. That's too much for any one person. I need something to balance everything out, and your girl's the only thing I can think of."

"I can ask her, but I already know she won't be happy with this if it involves people knowing Lily was her mother." His smile was twisted and bitter. "You don't realize just how close she holds her secrets."

That was the understatement of the century. It had taken three years to find out that Jen believed in the Old Ways, and even then the whole family had to confront her! And it wasn't like she was just a holiday practitioner, either. Surprise, surprise, she was some sort of evil priestess or something. Did she really think that didn't need to be mentioned, or was she embarrassed or ashamed? Why hadn't she said anything about it?

Either way, he thought with no little disappointment, after his knee-jerk reaction, she was liable to be wary of sharing anything else. True, he had no love for the gods and traditions of the Old Ways. Everyone he had met who followed them, Jen excluded, had by and large been terrible people. He had abandoned those teachings about midway into his first year at Hogwarts, when it became clear that decent people either did not know about the Old Ways or, in the case of most of the Light, actively rejected them as the lingering remnants of the Dark Ages they were. Had he taken the time to think things through, though, he was sure he would not have been quite as condemning to Jen's face as he had been. He would not have embraced her choice – because really, how messed up in the head did someone have to be to think worshipping _death_ was a reasonable thing to do? – but he would have been more politic in his response.

Now that he thought about it, maybe Jen shouldn't be excluded from that list. She was his goddaughter, and he loved her with all his heart; nothing would ever change that. That did not mean he was blind to her faults. She was a dark witch by her own admission, with the cruel and sadistic streak that magic required, but she was also a Dark witch. Not a blood purist, no, but in the other social aspects? She was power-hungry, elitist, crafty, occasionally duplicitous, dismissive of those different from her, and closed-minded with regards to the magically afflicted like werewolves and vampires. She was also strongly, almost violently anti-Light, though after her experiences with Dumbledore and James and Lily, that one he could sympathize with even if he thought she was making too broad of a generalization.

It was ironic, really. When he ran away from home and all but moved into the Potters', he had found himself not only welcome but surrounded by people who thought like he did. It was almost like he had been born into the wrong family. Jen was just the same, but in the opposite direction. Where he found a role model in Charlus Potter, she was cast from the same mold as his grandfather Arcturus.

He had been reflecting on her personality and sociopolitical leanings for the last couple of weeks, really, but more and more as July approached its end. Jen would turn seventeen in just a little over a week, would become an adult witch with all the rights and responsibilities that entailed. She would be eligible to take his place as Head of House. He wasn't planning on abdicating his position quite yet, not while she was still in school, but he had seriously considered giving her the ladyship she so deeply desired almost as soon as she graduated.

He _hated_ politics and boring social engagements and everything that came with it. He was willing to take on the role of Lord Black because it was necessary, and he had worryingly found himself to be rather good at it once he got used to everything, but willing was not the same as wanting. Given the opportunity, he would much rather leave the politicking to somebody else and spend his time doing something more interesting like training Hitwizards and Aurors or playing pranks on people or maybe even running a dog park. Jen wanted to be the politician of the family, and between Narcissa, Andi, and yes, even him, she would be good at it.

At the same time, he had to face the certain consequences that would follow him passing on the mantle. When he first took the position, he made a promise to himself that he would turn the House of Black into something better than it had been. Not more powerful or richer but purer, more moral, _good_. He had wanted, and still wanted, his House to no longer be treated as the paragon of the Dark side of society but instead to be a House and a family that people aspired to be like. He wanted to make it something Charlus, whom he respected more than his own father, would have been proud of.

The only problem was that he had made that promise before getting to know his goddaughter. When he stepped down, whether it was now or in fifty years, Jen would be the one determining the House's course, and that was why her similarities to Arcturus were so disappointing. No, that was the wrong word; those similarities were disheartening. Whatever changes he had made, she would undo. Not out of spite, no, but just because they were based on values she did not hold. His tenure as Lord would not be the start of a grand transformation as he once hoped. It would just be a footnote in the history of the House, one that would all too soon be forgotten.

On those late nights when these thoughts kept him awake, part of him wanted to blame Jen for being so different from the young woman she would have been had she grown up like a normal girl. A much, much larger part did blame Dumbledore, James and Lily, Lily's Muggle family, Elsie, Narcissa, bloody Candyland; everyone and everything that had stolen away a little girl's innocence and left her no choice but to become the kind of person she now was. And part of him blamed himself, too, for not being there to defend her, to catch her when she fell, to raise her as Charlus and Maria would have wanted their granddaughter to be raised.

But all the blame in the world wouldn't change how things were.

"Ask her," Mad-Eye said, breaking him from his reverie. "I can try to keep everything in one piece for a while, but it's going to break soon. We don't have much time before everything falls apart on us."

* * *

The people walking up and down Diagon Alley were entirely too cheerful for James's taste. From an objective outsider's perspective, he knew that was far from the truth; there was only a thin trickle of shoppers scurrying about from shop to shop, doing their best not to attract attention despite the lack of crowd to hide within. It was extremely depressing to see the primary marketplace reduced to this, but he could not muster up the concern such a sight deserved.

It was the thirty-first of July, and Danny was still missing.

He took another sip of the coffee he had ordered in the futile hope that it would buoy his spirits. All it had done was make him feel his loss all the more sharply. Clearly he should have emulated Lily and drunk himself into a stupor.

One of the cafe's few other occupants stood and walked away from his table, giving the girl at the counter a short nod, which she returned with a shy smile. While they were busy flirting, James noticed that the pimply-faced boy had left his bag under the table. "Hey, kid!"

The boy ignored him and walked out the door.

Climbing to his feet, James chased after him as fast as he could with his prosthetic leg. He had always been active as a child and a young man, but after Bellatrix blew his left knee apart during that country-ranging battle a little over a year ago, he had needed to adjust to his wooden replacement. Despite all his work, though, it still hampered him; he could manage a quick walk for short distances, but true running was impossible.

At least his new leg was human-shaped, unlike Moody's dragon claw, which made walking a little easier.

Hobbling out the door, he looked around in confusion. From one end of the alley to the other, there was no sign of the boy. Where could he have disappeared—

The building behind him exploded.

* * *

"Thank you all so much," Jen told her family and friends, giving Susan another hug when the Hufflepuff all but launched herself at her. Seventeen was a special age, one that normally demanded a huge party for people of their social stature. That obviously was not going to happen with the current unease that had overtaken the Wizarding World following Potter's kidnapping, but it was still nice to have some of her friends come by. Tracey obviously was there, her cat Vesta trying and failing to sneak up on Loki, as were Susan and Padma. Morag was having a hard enough time keeping her parents from banishing her to New Zealand for her own protection and so couldn't make it, and Justin had decided that even though he had no problems interacting with the heirs of two Ancient and Most Noble Houses while they were all at Hogwarts, being around the Blacks as a whole was something he was going to pass on at the moment.

And Luna? She had sent a perfunctory note saying only that she did not feel that she would be welcome. For all that they could be civil, a necessity considering they were roommates and shared the same circle of friends, their messy break-up had left a gulf that would likely take years to heal fully, assuming it ever did.

She set the box containing a string of black and white pearls on top of the stack of books she had already unwrapped. Unimaginative as that might sound, books were always a welcome gift to a Ravenclaw. These truly were all appreciated, even if they were not the _best_ gift she would receive; that title belonged to the present she would give herself. Or, technically, the present Ginny Weasley would unknowingly give her, one no one else could ever know about.

Not that she held their 'lesser' gifts against her friends and family. It was hard to trump a blood magic ritual that would cure her of her family's tendency towards miscarriages and stillbirths. It had been a risk to steal Weasley's ovaries the way she had, true, and she had been caught in the act for all that she managed to talk her way out of it in the end, but what was she supposed to do? Just ignore the opportunity to steal the Weasley family's famous fecundity for herself? That would have been such a waste.

Andi shot her a smirk. "Just know we're going to hold you to—"

Whatever she was about to say was abruptly cut off by an ear-splitting clanging. "What the hell is that?!" Jen demanded, her hands clamped tight over her ears in a futile attempt to block out the noise.

"The wards!" Sirius shouted back. "Something tripped the ill-intent ward!"

"Is it supposed to be this loud?!" Tracey asked at the top of her lungs.

"No! This is something big! Or lots of somethings!"

Well, just waiting around would not tell them what their visitor was. Jen ran to the front window and pulled the curtains apart to take a look. She blinked in confusion, then again to make sure that her eyes were not playing tricks on her. No, their attackers were still what she thought they were.

The alarm fell silent when Sirius waved his wand. "Well?" he demanded, his voice still a little too loud. "What is it?"

"It's…." She shook her head. Of all the things she had imagined she might have to deal with, this had never been at the top of her list. It had not even been _on_ her list, not considering who and what she was. She turned around and gave everyone a weak smile.

"We have a zombie problem?"

* * *

**It's interesting what slips your mind after just a few months. I actually had to rewrite portions of the first scene because I had forgotten that Dumbledore told Moody about the prophecy and Jen's parentage last book.**

**You have no idea how tempted I was to have James go for the bag instead of the boy.** _**Sooo** _ **tempted.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	3. The Shambling Horde

**drakonpie250:** This is more confusing than it really needs to be, I know, but there are two Charluses in the Potters' recent family tree. Charlus Sr married Dorea Black while their son Charlus Jr is James's father. I know there was a reason I decided Dorea likely wasn't James's mother, but I don't remember what it is right now.

 **Gensuru:** Soul magic is mostly about mimicking other types of black magic. It only has a few spells that are unique to Nyarlathotep.

**If you'll look back to the last chapter, you'll notice a very minor change in the last scene. Dora was not supposed to be at Jen's birthday party. She was… otherwise engaged at the time.**

* * *

**Chapter 3  
** **The Shambling Horde**

"Zombies," Ted echoed flatly. He was the only one not looking at her in confusion, his Muggle upbringing giving him alone the background needed to recognize her vocabulary. "Please tell me you aren't talking about the walking dead kind of zombies."

Now Andi and Sirius were worried. "Voldemort used Inferii a couple of times last time," said her godfather quietly, almost as though he was thinking out loud. "But it was rare, and he only ever had a few. Not enough to set off the alarm like that, even if replaced every single one he used back then."

She pulled the curtain back and peered out the window again. "I don't think this qualifies as a _'few'_."

"But we're safe here, right?" Padma asked frightfully. The Indian girl had spirit, but the issue of corpses reanimated through the darkest of rituals clearly pushed past her limits. "They can't get through the wards?"

"These wards? Not a chance. We could stay in here with Voldemort himself standing out there and be perfectly safe. Everyone's going to be all right."

"…About that." Family and guest slowly turned their heads to stare at her. "No one's friendly with that old couple that lives across the street from us, right?"

"Do I want—"

"No. No, you don't."

"Then again, no reason not to take all possible precautions. Those war wards better still work," Sirius muttered. He laid his right hand over the black stone in the ring on his left index finger, something Jen had always assumed was just a sign of his position in the aristocracy as a Head of House. When he pulled away, a sphere of black and grey marble the size of a lemon hovered between his two hands. He rolled it around in different directions, muttering under his breath the whole time, and strange symbols of golden light swept across the surface and out of sight too fast to be made out.

Not that she was watching too closely. The rest of the house had caught her attention. When she entered Grimmauld Place for the first time, she had been struck not only by the strength and chill of the old house's magic but also by the wards' sheer _depth_. It had felt as though there were layers upon layers of defenses just waiting to be called forth from their shadowed corners, and she knew without a single doubt that should those wards ever be activated, she would get quite a show. Now seemed to be that time.

The outer wards splintered and folded up into themselves, leaving only a ghost behind as they became armor plating on the outer walls of the house. From the basement came a burst of arctic might and the taste of death, and something truly monstrous emerged. This beast of power spread foul wings over the building just beneath where the wards previously ended, flesh peeling from bone to seep through the brick and mortar like blood through veins while ribs and limbs arrayed themselves in a constantly shifting cage between home and shield. Their non-Black guests gasped in surprise when first a cloud of shadow and cold light danced over their skin and then the screen to the fireplace slammed shut, the stones collapsing into a smooth cube that sank into the floor before the entire wall slid forwards to cover the hole. Spiderwebs of cracks criss-crossed every window, making the glass stronger rather than weaker in the instant before shutters slid home. Sharp-edged shards of a much greater anti-teleportation ward fitted themselves from sky to earth beneath the dome, and these Jen tapped into before they closed, a similar effect that touched her friends' skins playing on her own.

She needed to be able to get in and out quickly, particularly if she were going to go through the half-baked plan running through her head at this moment.

The wards finally settled into their new configuration, multiple layers of magic creating a field of defenses she would find intimidating were she not tied into them as a Black and the heiress of the House. "I'll be right back," she told the others. "I'm going to take a look around."

Before anyone could try to stop her or even offer a reply, she was across the street on top of Number 11's roof. This gave her the best vantage point to survey the sea of bodies below.

 _Someone's been a busy, busy boy_ , she thought with no little displeasure. How many zombies milled around, tearing their way into houses and through the inhabitants? A hundred? More? Probably more, she decided, looking at how the crowd spilled over from the end of the street and down both forks of the intersection.

Or more precisely, they spilled in from one fork and out the other. Was Grimmauld Place not the target itself but just collateral damage? Surely Voldemort knew where they lived. He had Bellatrix to guide him, after all….

Except no, Bellatrix couldn't guide him. Hadn't Cissy said a couple of years ago that Arcturus wiped her memory of certain pertinent details? She thought so, but she couldn't remember for sure.

Unnatural movement caught her attention, and she sighed. Either way, what Bellatrix did or didn't remember was of secondary concern at the moment. What she had to deal with first was the strange variants scattered through the more familiar forms. There were certain rules that had to be followed to create a working zombie. The body had to be more or less intact as any parts that had been severed pre-animation were permanently dead. The body must still have the necessary organs for thought; disembodied hands need not apply. The body must be of a species capable of making rational decisions. She had heard of centaurs and goblins being reanimated, but not pigeons or jarveys or unicorns. And the body must be a single thing. One could not put together a patchwork of human parts and bring it to life like Frankenstein's monster. If the body lacked hands or feet or viscera, it would lack them forever.

But had Voldemort followed those rules? Of course not. A centaur-like figure trotted along one side of the road, a woman's rotting torso fused to the shaggy back of what might have once been a yak. She would have a better idea if the beast still had its original head. The maybe-yak could never have been turned into a zombie, and while the woman could, there was no way doing so would let it control the animal body below. What her enemy had done was not necromancy, not in the way she knew it. But he was no necromancer, was he? He was a soul mage, with the ability to imitate all the Dark Powers' gifts. She had seen a chimeric monstrosity be created just a few months back, when Menagerie literally gave birth to a ziz-bird with the magics she gained from her service to Tiamat. If life alchemy was used to fuse man and beast, would it then count as a single being that could be animated? She had never had reason to consider that question before, but it looked like the answer was yes.

Almost absently, she summoned that zombie into the air in front of her so she could examine it more closely. Just as she feared, it was a fused chimera. That made things… difficult. The greatest advantage she had over Voldemort was that while they were both black mages, only she knew it. He had had no idea what kind of power lay before him if he would just open his eyes. Now it looked like he did, and worse, he had apparently undone the binding she laid upon his soul when they fought in Hogsmeade. The only other explanation was that he had found another of Nyarlathotep's servants to work along side him, and the chances of that were miniscule. Either way, fighting a soul mage who actually knew what he was doing was not going to be a fun experience.

Pulling the zombie into the range of her sonar, she scowled. The only zombie she had any firsthand experience with was Alain, and he was admittedly a special case, but from what she knew zombies were not supposed to have their own magical cores, no matter how small the spark within really was. Then again, considering how reminiscent this piece of core was to Voldemort's, this might just be how soul mages produced their facsimiles. It also meant there was no way to undo the animation. Disenchanting another voodooist's zombie was incredibly difficult and time-consuming, not to mention dangerous, but it could be done. She was not at all sure the same could be said about soul magic zombies, and she was not eager to experiment.

Oh, well. Annihilation it was, then.

The other zombies had not missed the unscheduled flight of one of their number, and they surged towards the building on which she stood. Human nails were not strong enough to dig into brick, but the zombies were still doing an admirable job of finding minute handholds with which to climb up towards her. She smiled and pushed the chimera away so that it floated above the horde. Flames surged from underneath its skin, and the body crumpled into a vaguely spherical shape. Letting go with her magic, she watched it smash into the ground and break apart in a burst of burning liquid that washed over several dozen of the undead.

That was probably not how real napalm worked, but it did the trick.

Another spin set her gently on the front step of her house, and she gave the door a brisk knock before opening it. When her family surged out to greet her with frowns of their own, she gave them a helpless shrug. "It's exactly as bad as I thought it would be out there."

"Is now really the time to be so cavalier about this?" Cissy asked through clenched teeth, even her strongest supporter just a tad bit upset with her actions.

"Maybe? Zombies aren't nearly as uncommon in Haiti as they are here. I heard about their weaknesses and how to deal with them from Elsie since I was a little girl. Not to mention," she added almost as an afterthought, "now would be the perfect time to try a spell I recently modified. I couldn't try it out before because it would be both too conspicuous and too dangerous, but now that I have plenty of acceptable targets…."

"They have to be stopped somehow," Susan agreed with a worried expression. "We saw them, too. Tons of Inferii wandering around Muggle London? This is something out of the Obliviators' worst nightmares. Flinging spells around won't _help_ , but it might keep more Muggles from seeing anything they shouldn't."

Tracey, on the other hand, sighed in resignation. "One of these days, I'm going to realize that hanging out with you is bad for my health. Today just isn't that day."

Jen glanced over at the incredibly nervous Padma. "No one will hold it against you if you don't want to help."

"Oh, good. I'll just stay here, then."

"None of you should be going at all," Sirius said in a sharp tone, wand already in hand. "You may technically be of age – some of you, anyway – but you're all still children. This isn't your fight."

"You're right, it's not. But if we don't do anything, who will?"

Her godfather did not stagger back, but he did have the expression of one who had just been slapped. She knew his position on whose mess Voldemort was to clean up, but sadly this was yet another time when his principles just did not mesh with reality. It would be nice if the older generation would take care of there little Dark Lord problem, absolutely, but since they had not, somebody else had to step up.

Before he could say anything else, she was stepping outside again. "Remember, girls. Fire's the secret to dealing with undead. But first, let's give them something to worry about besides us."

Blue and white flames sputtered from her hands and wrapped around themselves. The clouds of fire swelled, spindly skeletal legs sprouting and spinning into muscular limbs. Great gouts of flame ripped their way from each end. On the far side, the excess flame became blocky heads; nearer, they thinned into long tails. The chaotic dance on the surface stilled, white stripes sitting proudly on bright blue backgrounds. Cursed fire and the Patronus Charm, an unholy combination that the world was not ready for.

With loud roars of fury, the twin tigers leapt into battle.

Jen ignored Susan's demands for answers and almost lazily followed her dark totems. Holding her hands in front of her, she spewed more natural fire from her palms and slowly swept her hands to the side, hosing down all the zombies she could reach. She had no fear for her tigers; they would be fine. They were born of her flames and hatred, after all. Behind her, she soon heard not two but five sets of feet coming from behind her, and five voices called out incantations for various spells. Susan and Tracey stuck with basic flamethrowers. Sirius threw out spears of fire that ripped through several zombies before running dry. Cissy tossed orange and black fireballs into the crowd that burst with terrible force, and after a few moments of hurling exploding sparks that did less damage, Andi too switched to whatever dark magic that undoubtedly was.

"Where's Uncle Ted?" she asked in a conversational voice, dropping her sprays to conjure a whip of solid flame. Watching a line of undead split in half with a single swing, she nodded. Much better for cutting down their foes.

"He never was very good at combat spells," Andi said with a sheepish laugh. "Dora got her talent from me, not that she'll ever admit it. And to be fair, she's better at them than I ever was. Ted's staying inside with Padma."

"Probably for the best." How many zombies did they still have to go through? Rising into the air for a brief moment, she sighed at the sight. Fewer, far fewer, but still a lot.

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

As soon as this crisis was over, Amelia decided, she was changing that blasted law that said wartime Ministers had to be the director of the DMLE. Maybe she would replace it with something that gave the DMLE more latitude to act in a war situation or something. But she was not going to chance getting sucked into this mess again.

"Send two squads in, but tell them to be careful," she ordered Alex Anderson, the director of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. "This wouldn't be the first time the Death Eaters set off a bomb just so they could blow up any responders with a second. A squad of Hit Wizards will provide backup in case the attackers are lying in wait." The wizard nodded, and the mirror showing his office darkened as he signed off.

Turning to Rufus, she demanded, "Please tell me I misheard you."

 _"I wish you had,"_ he replied. _"A huge number of Inferii have been sighted swarming through Muggle London. There are a few spots where wizards are fighting, but the Obliviators are stretched to their limits keeping this secret. Three-quarters of the Patrol are there, as well as fully half the Hit Wizards and a good chunk of the Aurors, but it's still going to take an hour or more to rekill all of them."_

She nodded. Something about this did not sit right with her. "I want you to join them out there. Make sure every single one of them is destroyed and there are no Muggle witnesses."

The man's shaggy hair flopped over when he tilted his head. _"What aren't you telling me?"_

"This whole thing stinks of distraction. A bomb going off in Diagon forces us to respond. Inferii roaming free forces us to respond in greater force. Very public, very obvious. Every time Voldemort pulled a stunt like this before now, it's been to draw us out so he could go after his real target. He's predictable like that," she said with a cold, humorless smile.

Rufus was anything but stupid, and he scowled mightily when he figured it out. _"You want me out of the Ministry. You think he's coming here."_

"I think it's too tempting a target not to take precautions. The last thing we need is for the Ministry to fall and take both the Minister and the director of the DMLE with it."

_"I'd ask if you were evacuating, but I already know the answer."_

"You know me too well," she replied. "If he isn't coming here, I need to stay. And if he comes, I won't let him take over without a fight. The captain goes down with the ship, you know." He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. "You have your orders, Director Scrimgeour. See that they're carried out."

_"…As you wish, Minister Bones."_

"Stay safe, old friend," she told the blank mirror. Standing up, she shucked off her ministerial robes, her old Auror kit strapped on underneath. She knew Voldemort was coming. She could feel it in her gut. These attacks were just too big to be the prelude to anything else.

Opening the door, she found her four Auror guards standing at attention. All people she would trust with her life. She just hoped they trusted her with theirs. "Proudfoot. Shacklebolt. Savage. Tonks. With me."

Only after the grille of the Minister's private lift had closed did Gabriella Savage ask what they were all thinking. "What's waiting for us in the Atrium?"

"If we're lucky, a lot of wasted time. If we're not, the fight of our lives." None of them seemed to understand. "There's a good chance that Voldemort is coming here. The bulk of our forces are putting out fires he's started elsewhere, and everything he's used so far today has been disposable. He's forced our hand, and I'm sure he knows it." The bell dinged, and the grate slid open. "Now all we have to do is—"

A loud wailing split the air, and Everard Proudfoot tapped his wand against the glowing blue badge he wore; as head of her security detail, he had a direct line to the guards in the Atrium. "Report."

" _Trolls!"_ the wizard on wand duty yelled. _"They've got trolls! It's You-Know-Who! He's— No! No, don't—"_

A loud crunch, and the line dissolved into silence.

The five Aurors looked at his badge for a long moment before Amelia shook herself out of it. "I hate being right."

"What are your orders, Minister?" Tonks asked in a faint voice. As a Junior Auror, this truly was above her pay grade, but then again, so was being put on the bodyguard duty rota. She had earned her place with her actions in Hogsmeade, but that did not change the fact that she was only a few years out of the Auror Academy.

The pink-haired witch had a bright future ahead of her, and it brought Amelia no joy to know that she was about to snuff it out.

"We're going to do what we have to do. Voldemort is attacking the Ministry and all inside her. That isn't something I can abide." Looking at the nervousness they couldn't hide, the same nervousness that roiled in her own belly, she turned away. "I'm asking a lot from you four. We won't survive this battle. But we have to give everyone else in here time to escape, and if we can take some of his best down with us, so much the better.

"Now come," she ordered, turning around and storming towards the door that lead to the Atrium. "We have a Dark Lord to fight."

"No, you don't."

Amelia wheeled around in time for a wand to flash. Her world turned red.

And then black.

* * *

Three wands whipped out and pointed at the traitorous Auror. "Drop her!" growled Proudfoot, the end of his wand already smoking.

"Do you really think I'm going to hurt her? Do you trust me so little?" Kingsley asked. He slid Bones's wand into her robe pocket and readjusted his hold on her. "We all know what she was planning was beyond foolish. If Voldemort kills her, this country really will fall. I don't agree with everything she's done as Minister," he admitted, "but Britain still needs her at the helm. She can't die. Not now, and not here."

Mollified slightly, they lowered their wands. Dora reached out to take the unconscious witch from him. "So now what, we just run away? The Death Eaters are going to find this passage sooner or later, and then we're going to be two wands down. Bones and whoever's carrying her."

"They'll find this passage, but who says they're going to make it through? I'm sure you remember that traps _are_ my specialty." Kingsley turned around and began waving his wand, and runes scribbled themselves onto the walls. "This wont stop them, but it will slow them down."

"And we'll be even slower because we're waiting for you to set traps every step of the way," Gabriella retorted.

"You would be if I came with you, but I'm not. You're going to leave me behind. I'll do more good if I'm by myself," he said over their protests. "Madam Bones was right about one thing. Whoever stays here is going to die. I know I can't take out this army by myself. No one can. All I can do is buy you time to get her out of here. She's worth more to this country then I am, or any of us are. Get her to Hogwarts. She'll be safe there. Now go!"

"Damn it, Shack," Everard muttered. "You're a stick in the mud, but you don't deserve this." Grabbing Bones from Dora's arms, he slung her over his shoulder in a carry that the woman would have cursed him for even considering had she been awake. "You heard him. Let's move!"

"I have to ask," Dora said a couple of minutes later, when the Minister's lift descended to the fifth level where a private Floo built expressly for evacuations like this sat, "why are we carrying her? Wouldn't it be faster to wake her up and let her run with us rather that carry her?"

"Sure, if you want her to fight us so she can get back to the Atrium," Gabriella said with a roll of her eyes. "We'll wake her up once we're already gone and she can't charge into battle, and not until then. Now come on. I think the Floo's this way." She opened the door.

A few dozen Inferii turned their heads to stare blankly at them.

"Not this way!" A whirlwind of flame filled the room, and then Gabriella slammed the door shut and locked it with a spell. "Okay. Floo's not an option. I don't know how they knew about it or knew the password to get in, but somehow they did. We need to find another way out."

"Malfoy, I'd wager," Everard grumbled. "Slimy bastard had Fudge in his pocket for years."

"You're probably right. Idiot. Where do we go now? The Floo in the Minister's office?"

"Closed connection. It only leads to the Muggle Minister's office."

"Better than staying here with Inferii on one side and Death Eaters on the other, don't you think?"

"Er, guys?" They both turned to look at Dora, who was looking down the hall. "Or maybe we can see what the Unspeakable running this way wants first?"

The grey-robed person stumbled to a stop in front of them. "You have Minister Bones. Good. Don't go that way. All the Floos in the building have been hijacked."

"How is that even possible?" Gabriella demanded.

"We aren't sure. Probably You-Know-Who got somebody in the Floo Network Authority on his side, but there's no way to know. It's irrelevant, anyway," the Unspeakable said with a nod of… his? It was hard to tell with the voice disguised like that… head. "We have our own way out."

They followed the Unspeakable through a back corridor to the public lifts. Piling in, they descended, the floors sliding upwards slowly until the soft voice welcomed them to the ninth. Down the polished black marble hallway and through a dark wooden door they ran, and as soon as he slammed the door shut, the round room spun around wildly. "Come on, come on," Dora could hear him mutter. The room came to a halt, and he ran to one of several identical doors and threw it open to reveal an empty auditorium, chalkboards stretching from one end to the other. There was only one other door here, and it opened to reveal a gigantic library.

Now Jen's desire to become an Unspeakable made so much more sense.

"We're running out of time," the Unspeakable barked, waving them towards yet another door at the back of the library. A small sheet of glass lay next to the door, and he slammed his fist through it, shattering it into a million tinkling pieces. The room abruptly brightened. Dora looked up to see the lofty chandelier glow brighter and tongues of flame stretch out into the air. Those tongues were quickly followed by heads of flame, and then bodies, and a multitude of burning serpents poured over the edge and onto the bookshelves.

"Are you crazy?! You're locking us in here with Fiendfyre!"

"We'll be fine if you'd just hurry up." They crossed the last few feet and slammed the door shut. Looking around, Dora noticed that a good dozen Unspeakables were seated on couches and bunks, impatiently waiting for whatever was going to happen to happen. Their guide pulled a keyring with a gold and a silver key out of his pocket, and he used the latter to lock the door. "There. That will do it."

"And just why do you have an active Fiendfyre spell in the Ministry of Magic?" Everard demanded, setting Madam Bones on a nearby couch.

"A safety precaution. We can't afford to let You-Know-Who, or anyone else, get ahold of the knowledge in that library. It's far too dangerous. Better to let it burn."

"For people who are supposed to be researchers, that seems like a waste," Dora pointed out. Okay, it might not have been the most politic thing to say, but diplomacy could wait until her heart was no longer pounding away in her chest.

"It won't be the first time we've had to do that. We keep backups of all our records in a secret location, known only to the Director and me as the head of security. We can replace what we've lost when the time is right."

Everard cast an _Ennervate_ on the Minister, and she blinked her eyes a few times before they snapped open in clarity. She glanced around the room for a brief moment before hissing, " _Shacklebolt_."

"While I don't approve of how he did it, he had the right idea." Madam Bones turned her glare on him. "You are no longer an active Auror, or even the head of the DMLE. You are the Minister of Magic. As such, your safety becomes paramount."

"Of course, without a proper Ministry, the title of Minister loses some of its luster," the security Unspeakable offered in a bland voice. He waved his wand over himself, and Dora could not help but notice that the rest of the Unspeakables did the same despite it doing nothing. Grabbing the doorknob, he gave it a slow turn and waited for the locked door to stop clicking. Then he pulled it open.

Steam and smells wafted in from the professional kitchen just beyond the door, and the Unspeakables filed out one by one. None of the staff paid them any attention, either because a host of robed figures leaving their storage cabinet was an everyday occurrence or because the Unspeakables had rendered themselves completely unnoticeable. "You may as well go," the head of their security said. "We all have a lot to do now. No point in wasting time."

Gabriella and Everard walked out with Madam Bones, and Dora took a step to follow them before stopping. Pulling out her wand, she conjured her Patronus. "Go to my parents and Sirius first," she told the bull, "then Mad-Eye. Give them this message." She placed the tip of her wand against her throat.

"The Ministry has fallen. Bones still lives. Hide. They're coming after us next."

* * *

**A very strange thought sprang to mind while writing this. Do you guys remember the quickly aborted "reading the books" story based on this series? I couldn't help but think of how funny it would be to have one of those "sent" to an AU where Jenny Potter is a Gryffindor and friends with Hermione and Ginny and everything happened more or less the same as in canon. Just, everyone's reactions to seeing what the Boy Who Lived's goody two-shoes sister could have become, semi-canon-Luna's jealousy of BQ-Luna's friendships and romance considering her own loneliness over her three years of solitude inside Ravenclaw, Jen's court's thoughts about the friends they might have had, Jenny herself seeing what kind of monster she would have been had just one decision been made differently…. I think it would be hilarious to read, but maybe that's just me.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	4. Broken Faith

**This chapter has been long,** _**long** _ **in the making. Since about midway through Ascendant long. Some of you will be quite appreciative of it, I'm sure.**

* * *

**Chapter 4  
** **Broken Faith**

Ash smeared the roads and painted houses black, a morbid reflection of winter's might choking the world half a year early. The only color that stood out was the blue and red of the Patrolmen and Aurors skittering about, erasing the memories of any Muggle fortunate enough both to witness and survive the zombies' rampage. Jen let the curtain flutter down and dropped into a nearby chair. "I'm so ready for this day to be over."

The glares that followed that simple statement were palpable even without total awareness of everything within Grimmauld Place. Lifting her head to look at her friends, all of whom were slumped on the floor, she cocked her head in confusion. What were they so upset about?

Susan was clearly happy to elaborate. "What. Was that all about?"

"I'm not sure what you—"

"There is no way you're that strong. No witch can keep casting like that for almost two hours. All of us had to take a break, every single one of us. Except you. You kept going, and when we fell back, you actually took over where we had been casting." That was true enough. For all that sacrificing her magical core almost ten years ago had ruined her resistance to other people's spells, stamina was something she would never have to worry about. Her friends and family had nearly drained their own cores, which was an interesting process to watch even if it did put that much more work on her own shoulders. Those zombies hadn't been so polite as to kill themselves. Susan's voice broke through her internal praise. "That wasn't natural, Jen. You just don't get like that without going through dark rituals and human sacrifice and stuff like that. Things that ought not to be meddled with."

Her eyes narrowed. "Was that a question or an accusation, Susan?"

"I haven't decided quite yet."

Baron-be-damned Aurors and DMLE directors and their nosy, self-righteous Hufflepuff nieces. Or maybe just Hufflepuffs in general; the only member of the family who was anything like this was an Auror and a Badger both. She smiled faintly at the thought before letting her head drop once more against the back of the chair. "I'm going to pretend you said it was a question, then, if only because that's the far less offensive option. I'm easily the strongest witch of our year, possibly in the whole school. I won't be so arrogant as to say that I'm on You-Know-Who or Dumbledore's level, but I don't know that I'm far off it, either. I've also worked with Flitwick for the last three years and have gotten very good at pacing myself. And no," she added when her redheaded friend opened her mouth to interject, "I have not performed any rituals, dark or otherwise, on myself to increase or somehow change my magic."

That had all been Elsie's doing.

The corners of Tracey's mouth twitched in a suppressed smile. Had she told the Slytherin something approaching the truth about her core? She honestly could not recall at the moment. Sometimes it was hard to remember who knew what about her past.

"And the weird-looking Fiendfyre?"

"That wasn't Fiendfyre," she denied with a smile. "That was just an adjustment I made to the Patronus Charm."

That managed to break through Padma's own funk; while she had not participated in the fight directly, according to Ted she had been running around in a panic while the rest of you were outside, dragged in two directions by her fear and her desire to help. Her turmoil and fatigue were emotional rather than magical. "You tinkered around with the Patronus Charm? Why? When?"

"I couldn't get it to work correctly, so I thought understanding how it worked would make it easier to cast. Once I did, I remade it so it would be dangerous to things besides Dementors. As for when?" This, at least, she had a ready lie for. "Remember last year, when we all came back from the winter hols? Luna wasn't talking to me, and all of you were trying to give us space to work things out on our own?" The other girls nodded. "I needed _something_ to occupy my time besides moping around."

Even the other Ravenclaw in the room was a little doubtful at that claim. "And analyzing and deconstructing a spell no one has ever managed to figure out was your way to kill time?"

"There _is_ a reason the Unspeakables have already offered me a job. And to be totally honest, I don't completely understand it. The part that makes it hurt Dementors and lethifolds and nothing else? Still have no idea how that's supposed to work. But the backbone that makes it solid?" She waved her hand, creating a tiger made of dark smoke rather than bright fire. "That part's figured out."

"And that's the other thing," Susan demanded. "Wandless magic? When did you start doing that? That's something even Aurors have difficulty with, and it's actually a requirement to get into the Corps!"

"I've been working on that for a while," she said pleasantly. "Thought it would make a nice ace in the hole. Mostly I've focused on conjuring fire because that's rarely a bad weapon to have, and it turns out that if you have the talent and power for it in the first place, casting a spell you know inside and out wandlessly isn't that hard."

"Dumbledore and You-Know-Who are both known for doing a couple of things wandlessly," Tracey helpfully added. "It was a bit of a surprise when she told me about it, but I try not to gripe about things that wind up saving my life."

Oh, really? That would be a nice change of pace. The last time she saved Tracey's life, she had to murder the other girl's grandfather, and her best friend had most certainly complained about how she went about it then.

Sirius poked his head in before Susan could continue down that road of questioning. "Susan, the Floo's active again. Would your aunt want you to go back home or to a safehouse or where?"

"If it's all right with you, it would be best if I stayed here for now, Lor— Sirius," she quickly corrected when he gave her a disappointed look. Lord Black and Lady Bones were fine when they were in the Wizengamot Chambers, he had told her shortly after she arrived for the party, but so long as Susan was here not as the leader of House Bones but as Jen's friend, those formal titles were too stuffy to be permitted. "Auntie's always told me that if something were to happen where it might not be safe to go home, I was to get myself to safety and wait for her to contact me. I think here is as safe as I'm going to get."

"Any friend of Jen's can always find shelter in the House of Black," he said, his tone heavy with the gravity of his promise.

While she appreciated the gesture, being stuck in a house with Susan emulating her aunt was not something Jen wanted right now. She was too tired for the mind games covering for her previously secret abilities required, and she was too stressed from the two-hour battle against the risen dead. She needed something to do away from here, and a moment's thought gave her the perfect excuse. Rising from her chair, she made her way after Sirius. Susan moved as though to give chase, but then the redhead plopped back down.

She had found it irritating how Pomfrey had treated her like a china doll throughout fourth year, but seeing how exhausted her friends were after almost draining their own cores, she could at least understand the school nurse's misgivings.

"I need to get out of here for a little while," she told her godfather once they were out of earshot of her friends. He shot her an incredulous look. "I'm just…. I'm too keyed-up after that. I need somewhere I can relax for a while, and that's not here. Not while Susan's pestering me about the wandless magic she didn't know I could use."

"…You never told your friends that you don't need a wand?"

"I told Tracey and Luna," she answered calmly in the face of his disapproval. She was no Gryffindor to go off blabbing everything she knew and could do to everyone who would listen. Ravenclaws and Slytherins both were better about keeping their secrets. "They were the only ones who were in a position where they needed to know."

"Jen, you should be able to trust your friends."

"I do. That's why I didn't make a show of pretending to need a wand with all that out there. There just wasn't a need to mention it before now. And that's not what's important at the moment," she continued, cutting him off. She did not need this argument right now, either. "I'm headed to Wales for a bit. It's still too early for there to be any clients, but the kids should all be up. I haven't heard from them since last summer." Which was rather frustrating, actually. She did not get many letters from them normally, but Paula or Drew would still send her particularly amusing anecdotes from time to time. For over a year now, though, there had been absolutely nothing.

Sirius's expression darkened as it always did whenever she mentioned the child brothel where she once worked, but he shoved his fury down again and gave her a stiff nod. "If you don't make it back before we leave, Dumbledore called an Order meeting for tonight. I have no doubt it's going to be about the Ministry's fall. Let's hope the old goat actually has a plan about what to do," he ended in disparaging mutter.

 _Because of course he would take advantage of the Ministry's fall_ , she thought with a roll of her eyes. She was sure he would portray this as proof that his anti-Ministry stance was right, and his devoted followers were just going to lap it up. Most of them would be perfectly happy to crown him King Albus the First. "A plan, I'm sure. A good plan? Doubtful."

"Yes, well…. Hope springs eternal, I guess. And it isn't like we have much other choice. Even if Bones is still alive, possession is nine-tenths of the law. Voldemort has control of the Ministry, which means Voldemort has all the resources the Ministry provides, which means," he said with a sigh, "Voldemort now has a lot more military power than he did yesterday. And most wizards won't care. So long as it isn't them he's after, they'll carry on with their lives as best they can, and the majority of the population is Pureblood by the most lenient of definitions. He's going to start slow, go after the Muggleborns and obvious Halfbloods, and only then will they start tightening the rules to something more stringent than just having four magical grandparents."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "That's much more insight into his plans than I expected you to have."

He just shrugged. "Several of the other cadet instructors are retired Aurors. That was their expectation of what would happen if he succeeded in taking the Ministry. Thankfully, they also knew of contingency plans that were in place, so it isn't as if all is lost yet."

"No, but it still becomes infinitely more difficult."

Her godfather had no ready response to that, not that she really expected one. This was high on the list of worse case scenarios. True, there were few she would count on to mount a rebellion as Amelia Bones, particularly with the Aurors who would certainly follow her as the backbone of those forces, but rebellions were almost always fought from a position of weakness.

Voldemort would capitalize on weakness.

That made it even more important that she visit her kids now, while there was still time. Voldemort would be too busy tonight and likely tomorrow to do much else besides consolidate his power over the country, but there was no way to be sure. He could just as easily delegate that responsibility to somebody else and instead focus on how he was going to move against Hogwarts. The longer she delayed her trip, the greater the chances that something else would come up and occupy the whole of her attention.

Giving Sirius a faint smile, she stepped away and twirled on her heel. Grimmauld Place flickered out of existence to be replaced by the familiar hallway leading from Delilah Street to the main room of the Candyland Club. Jen frowned as she took in the silence. As she had said, it was too early to worry about customers, but she still would have expected some sound. Laughter or talking or _something_.

Lightning crackled around her fingertips for a moment before she stalked silently towards the door. There was no reason for anyone to attack this place; no one besides her family knew of her connection. Nevertheless, she could not help imagining the torn apart bodies of her kids strewn about the floor. Coming closer, she could hear something, but the sounds were too soft for her to make out. Her anger already forged into a curse but leashed for now out of concern that she might accidentally harm someone she cared about, she turned the knob.

Inside, the kids were going about the normal tasks that always needed to be taken care of before the club opened for the night. Tables needed to be cleaned, bottles at the bar needed to be restocked, the stripper poles needed to be checked and maintained. Everything normal and usual, just far more quiet than had ever been the case while she was running the place. One little boy, not an employee she recognized, looked up at the sound of the door opening and stiffened when he noticed her.

…That was not a good sign.

She strode in, her heels clacking on the floor, and that got everybody's attention. There were only a few newbies, all of whom looked a mite frightened at her appearance; the kids who knew her were more excited, but even that was faint, covered up by tension of some kind. What in the world had happened while she was gone?

"Finally decided to show up, huh?" came a nasty voice from the back of the room. A tall, dark-skinned boy, just entering the growth spurts of adolescence, walked around the bar. "Took you long enough. Come to see how your new business plan is working?"

She blinked in surprise and confusion from Drew's tone as much as his words. "What?"

"We trusted you," he continued, heedless of her own question. "Paula and me? We tried to believe that we could trust you, that you wouldn't go back on your promises. But you've changed, _Jen_. _Mama_ never would have sided with Dick over us—"

"Drew!" Her sharp tone cut through his tirade, and the boy fell silent even as his hands curled into fists at his side. "Good. Now back up and start from the top. What the hell are you talking about?"

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you mean, what am I talking about? This plan you cooked up with Dick to bring in more money. You even gave him the okay to go looking for more kids…." He trailed off at the expression of utter rage that suffused her face. Now was so not the day to deal with this nonsense. When he spoke again, his voice was far less sure of himself. "You didn't know about that?"

"No. I didn't."

"But we've been writing you about everything that's been happening… and you never got them, did you?"

"I haven't gotten anything since last summer, when Paula wrote me about the kid Dick had kidnapped. When I didn't hear anything after that, I foolishly assumed everything was going fine."

"He must have been taking the letters. That's how he knew what to respond to." She gave him a curious glance, and he explained, "Whenever he got a letter from 'you', he'd read out the important parts to us. It even sounded like stuff you would say, just… not what we thought you would say about the things we told you about. Not unless you were treating this place like he does."

"Clever. Very clever, Richard." She gave Drew a sharp smile, her hot rage transformed to cold ruthlessness, and it was that expression that finally put him at ease. Oh, no. She was still very much Mama Jen. And Mama was pissed. "Do you know where he is now?"

"Your office."

She stalked the halls, the tigress once more home in her old den, and the waves of magic pouring off her slammed the door open in front of her. "Oh, _Richard_. We have things to talk about."

"Jen," he said in a strained, squeaky voice, his smile more a rictus of fear. "It's nice to see you again. How, how are you?"

"I _was_ doing just fine. Enjoying my birthday, hanging out with friends, killing enough people to populate a small hamlet. You know, the usual." His visage froze at that casual admission. Zombies did not actually count as people, not in her mind, but there was no reason he needed to know that. "Then I come by to check on how things are going here since I haven't gotten any letters for the last year. Imagine my surprise to hear that you're up to something incredibly stupid again."

"Now, Jen, I know it wasn't how we did things in the old days," he replied, holding up one hand as though to ward her off, "but just because it's different doesn't mean it's bad. I've been keeping a closer eye on the books, and this is honestly better for everyone." He reached towards the drawers with the other hand. "Look, let me show you—"

She was expecting him to try something, so as soon as she caught the flash of steel, she waved her hand. The man screamed and something cracked when the pistol spun around his finger and flew into her grasp. "Yes," she purred, "I can certainly see how this benefits the business."

Bereft of weapon, Richard swallowed. "Okay, okay, let's not do anything hasty. We can talk this out. Right?"

The doors to the stage were flung open by Richard's bleeding body, and he flew a few more feet before falling heavily onto the ground. Jen followed him at an almost sedate pace. She glanced around, not terribly surprised to find all the kids now gathered expectantly. Several had angry or vicious expressions on their faces, and Paula's especially was positively savage. "Do you remember the last time we had to have a chat about this?" she asked, watching him try to push himself to his feet. A snap of her fingers jerked his arms out from under him. "Do you remember what I told you? I said if your stupidity ever became a threat to my kids, I would kill you. Guess what? You're clearly a threat to my kids."

Apparently facing certain death gave the monstrous man a sense of bravado he previously lacked, or maybe he was just still in denial. "You won't kill me. We both know it. I'm the one keeping this place going." He managed to get to his knees. "Who's going to take care of everything once I'm gone? You?" Richard laughed. "You're too busy with your nice new life to run this place again. Paula and Drew? They're still kids. Good luck getting anybody outside to take them seriously. You need me."

"I'm sure I can find someone." She ran her mind through her options. Cissy immediately sprang to mind; if anyone would want a child brothel to stay open, it was a pedophile who was also a client. The only problem there, and it was a big problem, was that for all her aunt's political acumen, she did not know how well Cissy would be able to navigate the waters of the Muggle business world. Any slip up would be disastrous considering the venue's immensely illegal nature. When she first threatened him, she had considered ensnaring some ordinary Muggle with the _Katokikio_ _Metatropi_ curse, the same one she used to turn Rita Skeeter into her servant, but that was before she learned of its inevitably lethal side effects. Entrusting Candyland to someone who was guaranteed to go insane within the year was not an option. She would just have to look for someone of an immoral bent, then, someone who would not be turned away by the kind of club they were in charge of. That… might be more difficult.

Richard laughed again. "Oh, you can probably find someone. But anybody who's willing to run this place is going to be just like me. You won't convince some bleeding heart to pimp out a bunch of kids! They're going to be in it for the money, and they're going to go after it the same way I am."

Her train of thought screeched to a halt. That was actually a very valid point, one she had not considered until just now. Her support for Candyland had never been about running a successful business. She did not even care if it broke even, not now that she had the Black fortune behind her. No, her interest was in keeping this a place of safety and security. Most people would consider child prostitution to be the exact opposite of safe, she knew that, but that was what it was for some children. Children like her, crippled and cast out to die in the streets. Like Paula, abandoned by the foster system because she had grown up around sex for as long as she could remember. Like Drew and Sarah and Lara, none of whom had anywhere else to go.

For Richard, this was just a business. But for them? For them, this was home.

He sneered at her. "You really thought you could, didn't you? You know why? Because for all you pretend that you're this amazing, one-of-a-kind super-freak, you're still just a stupid little girl who never outgrew her bedtime stor—"

The rest of his insult was trapped behind a thick gag, and then his hands and shins sank as if the wooden floor beneath was so much quicksand. "Hush. I'm thinking."

She couldn't run the club. Cissy probably couldn't run the club. Enslaved Muggles couldn't run the club. Wicked Muggles would run the club just like Richard had, and Richard wasn't even in consideration. Who did that leave? Who could she trust with her kids?

Her eyes drifted over the children. When she left, even when she last came back, they had all been happy. But now? Their faces were lined with tension and worry. Drew and Paula looked the worst, and she knew why. They had tried to emulate her and protect the kids from Richard's apathy and cruelty, but they did not have magic like she did. She had underestimated how much leverage that had given her when she butted heads with Candyland's owner. Without that leverage, they were doomed to fail. They could not keep this place safe for its children.

And if it was no longer safe, what function did it serve?

"Paula. Drew." The pair of preteens shared a look and walked over. Lowering her voice, Jen asked, "I need an honest answer. How bad have things gotten since I've been gone?"

"We could mostly handle it." At Jen's quirked eyebrow, the younger girl amended, "Mostly. Sometimes. It was okay before this year. Once Dicky got it into his head that he could do whatever he wanted, that was when everything went downhill."

"Is it bad enough that keeping this place open is dangerous?"

Her successors had another silent conference before Drew answered. "It…. Maybe."

Maybe. That was not the answer she wanted to hear. "Maybe you don't know, or maybe you don't want to admit it?"

"Maybe… it is that bad. We tried, we really did, but…."

Well, that made her decision simple, didn't it? Reaching out, she pulled them into a loose hug. "I know you did. You did all you could. But all things have to end eventually." She stepped back, ignoring the concerned looks they gave her as she turned to the rest of the kids. "Okay, everyone. Go to your rooms and grab your stuff. Only what you can carry, and focus on what you can't replace. Anything with special memories, that sort of thing. I want everyone back down here in five minutes."

"Mama, what are you doing?"

"What I have to, Paula." She smiled sadly. "What I have to."

Everyone was back well within her time limit, and she had to shake her head at how little they carried. Had she forgotten how little everyone had? Had she just been so preoccupied with her life as a Black that she just had not cared? She did not know.

Either way, she was handling it now.

She tapped the last bottle she had taken from the bar. "Okay. Everyone outside on the other side of the street. None of you needs to see this."

"Mama?" asked Paula in a worried voice. "Are… Are you sure this is the right thing to do? Like really, really sure?"

Jen shook her head. She was not sure in the slightest, but considering the alternative? "I don't think we have much else in the way of options at this point, sweetie."

Drew caught the younger girl's hand and pulled her away, which was enough to snap her out of her daze. Between the two of them, they soon had the entire ex-staff of Candyland shepherded to safety. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey, Jen made her way back to the office and hurled it against the far wall. The glass shattered, filling the room with gallons of liquid. This did not smell like booze, though. It stank of petrol.

Richard yelled at her through the gag, but she ignored his muffled protests and tossed the rest of the bottles at the walls. When only two remained, she picked up one and carried it over to her former employer. "Hard as it may be for you to believe," she said, unscrewing the top and pouring the fuel over his head and back, "I really don't want to do this. I have so many fond memories of this place, of my years working here. But you made me choose, Richard. You made me choose between this place and keeping my kids safe." The last drop fell, and she tossed the bottle aside. "That was only ever going to end one way."

She walked back to the table and lifted the metal ashtray, watching it fold and furl into a cigar. The end lit with a spark, and an all too familiar aroma filled the air. Opening the last bottle, she tipped it over above the nearest edge of the petrol puddle and walked towards the entrance. She did not quite make it to the outer door, but it was close enough.

Throwing the bottle away, she stared at the tables still visible deeper inside. "The Baron knows I have no room to judge other people for anything," she whispered, "and yet in this it falls to me regardless. Goodbye, Richard. I find you… guilty."

She dropped the cigar and watched the resulting wave of fire race into the club.

Her kids waited for her out on the street. Some, those old enough to understand what she had done, were crying. The younger ones were distressed just from the emotions of those around them. And Paula and Drew stood as sentinels, offering what support they could even as they engraved the image of their home into their minds.

"What are we going to do now?" he finally asked.

"We're going to do what we have to do." She reached for little Lara's hand and led them down the street. She did not want to watch Candyland be consumed by flames any more than they did. "I can't take care of all of you, much as I wish I could. And even if I _could_ , I don't know that it would be what's best for you. You need better support than I can give you."

"You really want us to trust the police? The foster system?"

"I thought we weren't supposed to trust the police," Tommy offered, his concern easily understandable considering his history of shoplifting.

"It isn't a choice I like, either," she admitted, "and if we had another option, I'd take it. But right now, we don't. There have been rumors about Candyland for years, but I made sure they were never able to prove anything. If you all go in and tell them that it's burned down, they might not believe you immediately, but they'll have to listen." She hoped, anyway. Her opinion about the competency of law enforcement had gradually risen, likely from having Dora as a cousin and Susan as a friend, but it was hard to shake off long-held prejudices. And this time, she hadn't even done anything wrong!

Which reminded her. "One more thing. Don't tell the police anything about me. Not about my magic or even that I was around. When they ask, pretend that I never existed. You don't know why the building caught fire, but you all grabbed your things and ran, okay?"

The police station came into view, and she pulled the horde to a stop. Time enough for one more warning. "Don't let them split you up. Eventually they'll have to, but until they're actually putting you in foster homes, stay together, do what Drew and Paula tell you. When they do put you in homes, make sure you know how to get ahold of each other. Addresses, phone numbers. Refuse to go until you can keep in touch." She turned around and knelt on the ground, waving everyone to gather around her. "Candyland's gone now, but we're still here. I _will_ find you all again," she promised. It would not even be hard, not with her scrying mirror. She was going to do better than she had done. "I don't know when, but once you're all settled, I'll come by. I'll watch and see how you're doing. If things don't go right, I'll be there, and we'll figure out what to do next. But right now, let's give this a try. If it works, this will give you the best futures you can get. I won't stand in the way of that. Not anymore."

She watched in silence as her kids vanished into the station. She stayed there, just watching, pretending she wasn't worried she had made the wrong decision. But finally she stood, and with one last long glance, she vanished.

* * *

Severus walked through the arch leading into the Ministry's atrium, cloak and mask on and surrounded by the rest of the Death Eaters. How had he not heard that the Dark Lord would be striking to seize the Ministry?! He could understand why he had not been told; the Dark Lord had valid concerns that he was truly a spy for Dumbledore and hence could not be trusted. But he still should have heard whispers of _something_!

The leader of the rebellion, now the ruler of the country as he so desired, stood in the middle of the room, his wand waving over the gaudy golden fountain the former Ministry was so proud of. Or what remained of it, honestly: an immense glob of gold, the statues that once lied about the nation's unity molten down like scrap and flowing into a new shape, one more in line with the Death Eaters' agenda. A single wizard, wand raised in triumph, one leg raised and resting on a small hillock. The mound immediate sprouted a hundred small bodies with babyish faces, their mouths opened as they squalled, and the gold developed a layer of dark patina until they were almost black.

The Dark Lord hummed thoughtfully and gave the grotesque sight a nod. He then turned and faced them, a wide smile sitting unnaturally on his face. "Come, come! Why do you not laugh? Why do you not cheer? Look around you!" He waved his hand at the walls. "The Ministry is ours!"

That pulled a lusty shout from their throats, and Severus quickly joined in. Now was not the time to draw attention to himself.

"But our battle is far from complete," he said once the Death Eaters were quiet again. "Bones managed to escape in the chaos of the battle, fleeing her post like the mouse she is. She is a mouse with delusions of grandeur, though. She will return again and again, giving us the chance to finish what we started. Hogwarts, too, still stands, and no doubt that old fool Dumbledore will surely return to his fiefdom and attempt to hold us off." Some of the less courageous terrorists shuffled at the name of their greatest foe, but the Dark Lord merely laughed. "In truth, I welcome it. I can hardly wait for him to see what I have planned for him.

"Those are talks for tomorrow. Tonight is about celebration and pride! After so long, we have succeeded in the most difficult of our goals! We have a new face to welcome into our ranks, too." He pointed at the front row. "Yes, Mr. Shunpike, come. I am sure that you have all already heard of young Stan's plight," he said, clapping his hand on the young wizard's shoulder. Shunpike, wisely Severus thought, did not look comfortable being so close to the Dark Lord. "He thought to gain our attention by striking out against the Muggle plague that invests this country. But he was found out, thrown into a prison cell for attempting to do what was in the best interest of his world. Everyone here knows that I reward devotion, and what more devotion could I ask for than this? Barty led a covert operation to steal him away from the Auror's holding cells, and rather than killing some hapless Muggles, young Stan instead became the herald of my impending success." He turned to face the terrified wizard. "You wished to join our ranks? You have it. You now stand as one of my trusted Death Eaters."

Shunpike scurried back to the safety of the anonymous ranks, and Severus shook his head in astonishment. They had been so _sure_ that Shunpike's arrest and trial was an overreach by Bones's administration, something to assuage the public that the Ministry was indeed doing something. And now here he stood, a full Death Eater? Had the Ministry's actions turned him towards the Dark, or had he been that way even before his arrest? Severus had no way to know.

"There is someone else who needs to be honored here tonight," the Dark Lord continued. "Severus, where are you?"

He slowly made his way to the front, his mind racing. What had he done? He had fed his dark master titbits of information on Dumbledore's orders, but nothing that should have given him any advantage, particularly not against the Ministry. Dumbledore himself had enough issues trying to forecast what the Ministry was going to do from one day to the next, so there was no way it was anything he had passed along that should have contributed to today's tragedy. But what else could he be 'rewarded' for?

"My sneak, my spy. My eyes and ears in Dumbledore's camp. You above all have been placed in the most unenviable position of listening to the Light's drivel and aiding our enemies. I should be able to trust you above all others." The Dark Lord's smile fell. "And yet, I cannot. Spies by their very nature are untrustworthy. Even worse than a spy, you are a double agent. I believe you are my spy; Dumbledore believes you are his. How can I trust you in light of this?"

He swallowed his fear and answered in as normal a voice as he could muster. "You know that my true loyalty is and has ever been to you." He reached for his left sleeve to reveal his Dark Mark before he stopped in sudden panic. That was right, his Mark was gone. He had Black remove it the previous year with her own mastery of the Dark Arts. If the Dark Lord demanded to see it, he was a dead man.

"I wish I could believe that, Severus, I truly do. How devoted to our cause are you?" The albino wizard fingered his wand. "Would you do anything I asked of you? Would you die for me?"

"You know that I would, my Lord," he lied.

The pale wand rose to point at him. "I no longer have need of a spy in Dumbledore's precious Order. They are irrevocably broken. I wish I did not have to do this, but I have no other choice. In reward for your service, I will make your death quick and painless. Future generations will know you as a martyr who nobly sacrificed his life in service to our cause. Goodbye, my dear Sev—"

"Peaceful prosper!" he shouted. The portkey he always wore responded to its command phrase, and the familiar discomfort of a hook embedded in his belly plucked him from the midst of the Death Eaters. The world spun around and around before resolving into wooden walls and a long table.

He slammed onto the top of the Longbottom's table and just breathed in relief for a long moment.

Chairs scraped all around him as the various members of the Order shot to their feet, understandably on edge with a wizard in full Death Eater regalia appearing before them without warning. He groaned, as much from the rough landing as to let them know who he was before somebody cursed him, and pulled off his silver mask.

"I expected Voldemort to gloat for longer."

Lifting his eyes to glare at Albus's too-light tone, he retorted, "He decided that with the Ministry in his grasp, he no longer needed to harbor a spy. He—"

His chest flared with sudden, hot pain, nearly enough to make him scream, and he tore at the black robes. What was this?! The bronze medallion hanging from his neck glowed with wicked light, the metal bubbling at the edges of the skull and snake on its face. Ripping it off, he hurled it at the wall and watched with morbid fascination as the medallion melted, smoke curling up from where it scorched the floor. Had he still borne the Mark, that would have been him, a tortuous death if there ever was one.

He could never tell Black that her actions had saved his life like this. She would be insufferable for weeks.

"Finally outlived your usefulness, Snape?" Potter echoed nastily. "You're no good to us either, then, are you?"

Severus opened his mouth to shoot a scathing comment back, but then he stopped. If he were not a spy, that removed his major need to return to the Order, didn't it? The attitudes of most of the members grated on him, so focused on their moral superiority that they ignored how useless they were in the grand scheme of this conflict. Oh, he had no illusions that he was a good person, not after the kinds of things he had done, but at least he made actual contributions to the war effort. Now that his primary role was finished, he had no reason to return for these pointless meetings. He could have someone relay whatever important decisions or announcements were made to him afterwards. Albus or Narcissa or, incredibly, maybe even Sirius Black. If they needed him for his potion skills, those he could provide without leaving his lab.

For all that his heart was still pounding a little from nearly being killed, this turn of events might actually be to his benefit.

And speaking of potion skills, the Dark— _Voldemort_ no longer had a master of that craft, did he? He had been the only one among the Death Eaters. "He will be after Slughorn now more than ever," he warned Albus, sliding off the table. "There are too many advantages potions can provide for him to ignore that branch of magic. Poisons, panaceas, elixirs. Without me, he has no one, but so long as Slughorn is in the wind, he is in greater danger now than ever before."

"I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news," Albus said sadly, "but I fear that has already come to pass. Horace refused to meet with me," he explained to Severus's confounded expression. "That does not mean that I did not have ways of keeping an eye on him. I have watched him for the last several months, but a few days ago, I lost track of him. I could not be certain of what happened, but from Voldemort's actions, it is clear that he now lays in the Death Eaters' clutches."

Severus stared, and it took a few moments for his tongue to remember how to work. "You knew? For the last few days, _you knew_? And you neglected to tell me this?"

"I did not want to concern you with his fate until I had some proof that he had not simply slipped away—"

"How about my fate?!" he roared. "You knew that his inability to find Slughorn was the only reason he did not kill me! I told you! He didn't trust me, but he needed me. I told you that once he had Slughorn, he would see me as a liability to be removed! You didn't think even the _possibility_ that Slughorn was in his hands was something I needed to know?"

"I was only acting in your best interests, my boy."

"Spare me your idea of what's in my best interests. You were going to _let me die_." He shook his head. He knew Albus was a manipulator. It had been little surprise to him when the old wizard was revealed to have used mind magic on the students. In hindsight, it explained a number of situations that had arisen when he was a student, let alone all the disasters that had cropped up after Potter's brat started his schooling. He had just expected not to be treated as something expendable by _both_ sides. Well, that was something he could amend.

It was one thing to put his life on the line. It was quite another to have them throw it away.

Albus was saying something, maybe trying to keep him around and maybe not, but regardless, he kept walking. He was done.

The door slammed shut behind him, and a few seconds later the door opened again. Turning around, he was surprised to find it was Narcissa of all people who had followed him out. "I wouldn't have thought you would try to keep me here."

"Keep you here? Hardly. The only reason I am here is so I have a good view to watch Dumbledore burn." She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "No, I just want to make sure you have somewhere to go that the Death Eaters do not know about. We all need to keep ourselves safe right now."

"My quarters at Hogwarts should be safe enough. Even if not, only a few people know where my home is. You. Lily. Albus," he added with a scowl. He had forgotten about that. "I can make do there until it is safe to flee the country, anyway."

The woman nodded sadly. Between the Dark Lord and Albus, he was not sure who should succeed. It as a choice between two bad choices. Then again, was it only two choices? He looked at Narcissa again, and she took note of it if her raised eyebrow was any indication. "Is there something I can help you with, Severus?"

"I would appreciate it if you could pass on a message for me." She nodded. "Tell your niece that whenever she gets ready to make her move, I want her to let me know."

"Why do you think Jen is going to get involved in this at all?"

He smirked knowingly. "Someone with her degree of skill and ambition? She isn't going to sit back and let other people take care of things. If she defeats the Dark Lord, she will have the same opportunities Albus did after defeating Grindelwald. Our world would be her oyster, and there is no way she'll let that pass her by. She's too much a Slytherin at heart. She might even be able to pull it off, too."

The girl might be farther down the road of a budding Dark Lady than he would like, but at this point, he would take what he could get. He had no idea what she would make of their world if she won, but considering the alternatives were the Dark Lord or Albus? She couldn't make much more of a mess than they would.

And at least she seemed to have an interest in keeping him alive. That was a definite plus.

* * *

**For all that I despise Snape in canon, I've come to really enjoy him in this tale.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	5. Insurgency

**Isa Lumitus:** It is an amusing parallel, isn't it? That said, no, Jen's Patronus isn't what I assume the creator of Fiendfyre was going for; if he made a mistake during its development, the chances of anyone learning it later would be exceptionally low. Fiendfyre has a 'will' of sorts, but it's one geared towards total destruction. Throwing the Patronus into the mix changes that drive to protection, albeit protection by way of annihilating all nearby threats.

It was also a neat little callback to Jen's history: something originally of the Light that was broken down and twisted to a darker purpose.

**This chapter was supposed to be out earlier, but I spent the whole week before last baking instead. That isn't an apology, by the way. Those cookies were just too good to apologize for, if I do say so myself.**

* * *

**Chapter 5  
** **Insurgency**

A quick signal, and the two witches sprang into action. Their wands swished at the rest of the staff, and everyone froze in place. Only the man behind the desk was left untouched, and his reaction to having two of his bodyguards seemingly attack was understandable. Distracting, but understandable.

"Please calm down, Mr. Minister," Amelia said. The invisibility cloak fell from her shoulders to shimmer on the floor like a pool of quicksilver. "I apologize for the theatrics, but I have few ways to arrange a meeting with you these days."

"And you couldn't have used that abominable painting of yours?" he snapped, pushing his glasses up his nose again. "Or even waited until this meeting was over?"

"You staff meeting offers us the greatest privacy, and unfortunately no, the painting is out of my reach for now. I have already delayed this discussion too long as it is."

"Wonderful. What dire news have you brought this time?" he demanded.

Dire news? Amelia shook her head and waved her wand within the office's fireplace to destroy its connection to the Floo network. He had no idea. Not yet, anyway. "The kind that is not appropriate for sarcasm. It pertains to the Inferii attack a few days ago."

"A few— The zombies?! Of course those were your doing!" He nearly threw his pen at the desk. "Do you have any idea what a disaster that's been to contain?! Front page on every red top! Thank God it's just those for now, but how long before there are enough pictures that real newspapers start taking an interest? Rotting bodies and monsters and people in cloaks throwing around fire." Shooting her a short glare, he thought aloud, "That Fudge character never went into a lot of detail about just what being Minister of Magic entailed, but I seem to recall that keeping your people under control and out of sight was part of it. Was I mistaken?"

She ignored the jibe and conjured a chair to sit in, proper decorum for these kinds of meetings be damned. "I am well aware of the scale of this disaster. I lost twelve men keeping it contained so you didn't have to explain the deaths of a few _hundred_ of your citizens. Twelve good men, and at a time I don't have any wands to spare.

"Which brings me to the reason for my visit. We will not be able to provide as much assistance as we normally do when it comes to hiding our activities from your general populace. We will do what we can, but we have several other issues that we need to deal with that take priority."

"Typical," he muttered. "What is it this time? Another escaped convict? Shipping monsters into the country?"

"You recall our discussion last time about the terrorist leader who somehow came back to life and wanted to take over the country?" He nodded. "While the bulk of our forces were out dealing with the Inferii or the bombing of our major commerce center, he stormed the Ministry building with most if not all of his own followers and seized it. I escaped, as did most of my department heads, but the building itself and everything within is currently under Death Eater control. Reclaiming it is where the majority of our efforts will be focused."

"That is a problem," he agreed. "This is the same terrorist who engineered the attacks at the cricket game and the flats last year?" She nodded. "Then in the interest of both our nations, I would be happy to offer whatever assistance I can. If it's additional men you need, I can bring this to the Minister for Defense and from there raise the matter with the Queen. Though you'll probably need to be at those meetings, too, if only to prove that I haven't lost my mind babbling about magic," the other Minister mused quietly.

Amelia froze. For all the sincerity of his offer, that was the _last_ thing she wanted. Coordinating with the Muggle Minister and informing him of what was going on was a necessity, both from a legal and practical perspective. Their two worlds rubbed too closely together for them to be able to ignore each other completely. But so far, they had managed to keep the knowledge contained, partly by limiting their contact to one position and partly by Obliviating each former Muggle Minister when he left office. It was not a pretty system, but it worked.

Bringing more people in? That could spell disaster. One man revealing the existence of magic could be dismissed as a liar or a fraud or insane. Two people, and worse, two people who could corroborate each other's stories? That was a little harder to dismiss. Being the former Director of the DMLE herself, she was not at all eager to see how her Muggle counterpart handled the news. At the very least, contingency plans would be drawn up, and the knowledge would spread throughout that department. In the worst case scenario, the idea that _all_ witches and wizards were evil could find root, leading to the return of the witch hunts but on a far wider scale and far more effectively than those of centuries prior.

There were also the global ramifications to consider. Once the government of Muggle Britain at large knew about the Wizarding World, someone somewhere would realize they were hardly the only ones. A misstep here could lead to the reveal of not just magical Britain but wizardkind worldwide.

She still had hopes of containing this situation. Defeating the Death Eaters, killing Voldemort, restoring order to the country. When they succeeded, everything could go back to normal, but 'normal' would be forever lost if the Statute of Secrecy fell apart around her. She refused to be the one responsible for that.

"I thank you for the offer," she replied slowly, "but I expect we can still handle this on our own. It's just a matter of consolidating our forces. If the situation changes, I will let you know, but for now I simply came to keep you abreast of what is going on. You might not even have to worry about anything. Now that the Death Eaters have achieved one of their primary goals, they will likely focus their own efforts on internal conflicts and fighting us. It is entirely possible they will not bother with any attacks on your world so long as we are still resisting them. I just cannot make any promises."

"I can appreciate that caution."

She had her doubts that the man could appreciate any of this, but she held her tongue. "Then in that case, I must take my leave. I hope I can return soon to inform you that we have successfully retaken the Ministry building, but until then, we likely will not see much of each other."

"And my staff?" he asked with a glance at the still forms of everyone else in the room.

"They will have no memory of their current state. To them, it will be as if no time at all has passed."

He leaned back in his chair. "I suppose that is acceptable."

It had better be. Amelia turned on her heel and Disapparated, the wooden walls of the office becoming grey stone. It was the best he was going to get.

Now she just had to deal with the million and one _other_ issues piling up.

* * *

"Thank you again for permitting us to use the castle as our base of operations."

"What am I supposed to do? Stand back and let You-Know-Who take over?" Griselda shook her head. "It isn't like we don't get something out of this, too. Whether you're here or not, Hogwarts is on his list of places to attack. The wards can keep out a lot, especially now that the Unspeakables have tweaked them, but if he broke through, I don't know that we could fight him off by ourselves and protect the children. Having more people will only be a good thing."

Honestly, this partnership was already paying dividends. Prior to this, the wards might have blocked out the Death Eaters, but no one was sure. Now, after the latest modifications? One of the wards had been altered so as to deny entry specifically to anyone who bore the Dark Mark. The hows and whys were beyond her comprehension, but the important part was that it was far more likely to keep their enemies at bay.

Amelia – because in the Minister's own words, sheltering them in their time of need was as good a reason for being on a first-name basis as there could be – frowned. "Are you sure holding classes with everything else going on is the best plan?"

"The defenses here are better than any of their homes can boast. For the Muggleborns especially, this is the safest place they have, but the same is true for all the rest who don't subscribe to the Death Eaters' philosophies. Once they are here, they will need something to distract them from their losses. Lectures and homework will do that as well as give them a much-needed dose of normality. And," she continued, her voice now forcibly bright, "I have to believe that this war will end in our favor, that good will triumph in the end. That everything will go back to the way it was, as much as it can, anyway. Just as our students needed a complete education to be productive adults last week, they will continue to need it in the future. That, at least, I can provide."

Optimistic, she knew, some would even say naive, but she lived through war before. Dwelling in this country for almost two centuries, it was hard not to have done so. And one thing she had learned from You-Know-Who and Grindelwald both was that when the dust finally settled, people went on with their lives. Better to plan for what would come afterwards than worry about a fight to which she could contribute little.

"I can see the logic in that, I suppose—"

The door of Griselda's office opening cut Amelia off. A moment of shock passed, and then they both glared at the wizard who waltzed in without a care as if he belonged there. "What," the elderly witch nearly snarled, "do you want?"

"What do I want? I believe I want the exact same thing you want." Conjuring an overstuffed armchair, he gave the Minister a nod. "Amelia, my dear. I hear congratulations are in order. Not once in this nation's history has the Ministry building ever been lost to her enemies. Good on you for achieving it at last."

The witch in question seethed but held her tongue. Her eyes, though, promised murder.

Dumbledore smiled genially and leaned back. "I do hope I'm not interrupting—"

"Sure you don't."

"—but I was already on my way here and could not help but overhear the tail end of your conversation. I may have a solution to both your problems."

"Please tell me it involves mind magic so I can justify ending you right here and now," Amelia asked sweetly.

"I'm afraid I must disappoint. You need fighters, fighters the Order can provide. And you," he continued, focusing again on Griselda, "have little enough experience running a school during times of peace, let alone while there is a war raging around you. I could retake the reins if you want…?"

"I'm happy to sit by and let Minister Bones kill you."

He shrugged. "I doubted you would take me up on that, but the offer had to be made. You will still find my experience useful. Not to mention, if you do plan to keep Hogwarts open and running as usual, there are two positions that still need filling. First, History of Magic. And two," he said with an arrogant smile, "Defense Against the Dark Arts. A class that is greatly important considering recent events, as I'm sure you will admit."

She stared at the wizard and his absurd, _insane_ confidence. "You were cast out of Hogwarts for using potions and spells on children's minds, hiding all evidence of your misdeeds from coming to light so you could play at being a king. You are a fugitive, on the run from the law. And you expect me to ignore all that and let you come back so you can do it again? Are you mad?!"

"Sad as it is, I am apparently the sanest of the three of us," he answered solemnly. "Surely you will not let your grudge against me sway you against doing what is best for the children. Who better to teach them how to defend themselves against the forces of darkness than the only person who has ever driven off Voldemort?"

"Your senility is showing," Amelia taunted. "You no longer hold that title. Don't you remember Auror Tonks? She has the more recent victory."

Dumbledore waved that off. "Surviving until he leaves because his goal is no longer attainable is not the same as victory. A useful skill, to be sure, but not the same. Besides, how much do you really trust Auror Tonks? A witch from a Dark family who has shown Dark tendencies herself. The niece of Voldemort's right hand and most devout follower. And close to her cousin, Bellatrix's daughter, who tried to murder ten of her classmates only a couple of years ago. Is _this_ the kind of person you want around impressionable children?"

"Absolutely," Amelia replied without a moment's hesitation.

His disappointed look spoke volumes, albeit most of them revolving around his obsession for control. "And yet you still need to defeat Voldemort. If she is that reliable, if you have that much faith in her, you will surely want her in the thick of the fighting. You will need to field everyone you can. That is reason enough you cannot set her to teaching."

Griselda watched him warily. This could not be all there was. She knew he was clever and creative. Even as a teenager, he had a knack for looking at problems from a unique perspective. He had shown that throughout his school years and his research following graduation. He also possessed decades of experience in the political arena. Put those two together, and it went without saying that he had some ulterior motive to his offer of 'help'. He was after something, something he could only get at Hogwarts.

Was his intent to salve his wounded pride? To taunt Griselda and Amelia about their failures? It was petty in the extreme, but more importantly, it was too _small_. That could not be all there was to his actions. And why would he be so intent on Defense Against the Dark Arts? If he just wanted to be in Hogwarts, he would have an easier time convincing her to give him the History job. Aurora had flat refused to continue teaching both Astronomy and History, and finding anyone qualified was nearly impossible. She would be willing to give the job back to Umbridge if anyone could find the woman! But despite that course being the easier one, he wanted to teach Defense. Why?

"The Order," she muttered. Amelia and Dumbledore looked at her in confusion. "What is it?"

"A group of volunteers who want to see the Light win," he said at the same time that Amelia replied, "His friends and old students who do what he wants without question."

The latter was the more helpful explanation. "Your own private army. You said they could provide fighters," she continued when Dumbledore opened his mouth to refute the accusation. "Made up of your former students. And you're asking for a teaching position where you can work with current students in a subject that at its core revolves around combat. You don't want to teach. You want to recruit."

"I want to arm them properly against the Death Eaters who want them dead."

"You call Disarming Charms and Stunning Hexes properly armed?" Amelia demanded. "Your Order is a liability on the battlefield for that very reason. And now you want to throw half-trained kids in the mix, too?"

"Your dedication to losing this war is commendable. Regardless, I would not call the seventh-years half-trained. Two years being taught by Aurors, plus a year of instruction regarding tactics? That is a strong foundation on which to build practical skills."

Griselda stared at him in disgust. And to think, a man like this used to be trusted around children?

"Do not think for a moment that this is a course I enjoy espousing," warned Dumbledore, correctly interpreting her expression. "Were it feasible, I would love nothing more than to keep them out of the fight. The innocence of children is something to be cherished. Unfortunately, at this time we must play the game with the hand dealt to us. Our enemy has proven that he has us outnumbered, and he can replenish his forces far more easily than can we. We need to build our numbers from wherever we can find willing and able wands, and the Gryffindors at least are both."

"That's never going to happen."

"Can we really afford not to do so?"

She turned to ask Amelia to back her up, but her words lodged in her throat when she saw the contemplative look on the woman's face. "Minister, surely you aren't really considering this madness?"

Amelia glanced up at her, fingertips still tapping lightly on her cheek. " _If_ ," she finally said, "we allow the seventh-years to join the fight, it won't be immediately. All of them will need to be evaluated by a Hit Wizard or Auror, and they will all need instruction on proper battlefield procedure. But they are legally adults. If some of them want to volunteer… We could use the help."

"I'm glad you're seeing sense—"

"But!" The Minister held up one finger. "Should they be cleared to fight, it will be alongside the DMLE. They will _not_ be under your command, nor will they report to your Order. They will fight for their nation's proper government."

"Do you honestly think you can lead them better than I can? We only have to look at recent events to prove that a folly," he said.

"I think I don't trust you as far as I can throw you," she answered bluntly. "I'm working to take this country back from a Dark Lord. I don't intend to just hand it over to another."

Dumbledore's blue eyes turned icy. "You dare call me a Dark Lord? After everything I've done for our world and our way of life?"

"Everyone is the hero in their own mind, regardless of what they are in truth. Your actions tell me what you really are. Compared to Voldemort, you are the lesser evil, but make no mistake: the lesser evil is still evil."

"If this is how you think to forge alliances, you are doomed." Rising to his feet, he shot Griselda an imperious glance. "I look forward to hearing from you regarding the position."

"I _hate_ that man," she said once the door closed again. "If he thinks he can come in here and demand he be allowed back around students after what he pulled, he has another thing coming."

"Hire him."

"What?!" She stared at Amelia as though the younger witch had lost her mind. Sure that had to be the case. There was no other reason that made the slightest bit of sense. "You call him evil, refuse him at every turn, and now you're saying to hire him? Why?!"

"Because then we can keep an eye on him. Eight hours a day, five days a week. That's forty hours when we will know where he is and that he isn't out causing trouble. Well," she amended, "as much trouble, at least. If he doesn't cause any at all, it's because he's doing it where we can't see it. That's the same situation we'll have if you don't hire him, and it's one I'd prefer we not have to deal with."

"This all seems… very antagonistic," Griselda finally settled on. During their, admittedly rare, interactions when she was still part of the Wizarding Examinations Authority and Amelia still Madam Bones of the DMLE, the younger witch had always struck her as being a methodical individual, slow to anger and who acted decisively but only once all her ducks were in nice, orderly rows. What she had just seen was neither.

Amelia smiled weakly. "Like you were much better. _'I'll sit by and let her kill you_ '?" The deposed Minister let her head roll backwards to rest on the chair. "Every time I think I've found the depths of that man's depravity, he decides it's time to disappoint me once again. Practically the entire DMLE was out either saving people after the Diagon Alley bombing or killing Inferii. He acts like his precious Order is just as skilled, just as well trained as my Aurors and Hit Wizards. Do you know how many of them were out there with us?" She did not wait for Griselda's answer. "A dozen. I was willing to give him a pass on that, but then I found out that he didn't send them or even know about their actions. Mad-Eye Moody called them together of his own accord because he knew we could use the help. From what he told me later, Dumbledore's been too busy consolidating the most fanatical of his supporters so he has a solid chorus singing his praises behind him.

"Worse, I can't say it's not working." Slowly pushing herself out of the chair, Amelia walked to one of the windows and looked out over the grounds. Griselda did not need to join her to know what she saw. Ever since the Ministry's fall, people had been flocking to Hogwarts in droves. They were all looking for protection, and Hogwarts's reputation as the safest place in Britain meant it was here that they sought shelter. The wide open grounds were rapidly becoming a village in its own right, aided and abetted by the few people who had previously chosen to stay and rebuild Hogsmeade. "Once upon a time, everyone knew that Dumbledore was supposed to be a great man. Even if they didn't believe it or hadn't gone to Hogwarts, they still heard the rumors. Everyone knows that he was the only wizard Voldemort ever feared. The first tale we have proven a lie, but the second? That might still hold a shred of truth. Now that we, the Ministry, are little more than a rebel group trying to take back control of the country, people will fall back into the habit of looking to Dumbledore to save them. And then with how he was just acting?" She shook her head. "I can't shake the feeling that this is _exactly_ what he wanted. The Ministry disgraced and disorganized, the common wizard revering him again…. I assume his best case scenario would have seen him still with the Boy-Who-Lived standing behind him and me, or whoever the Minister was at the time, dead rather than escaped, but neither of those would be a necessity for his plans.

"The last time we argued like this, it was after the Battle of Hogsmeade. I threatened him, said that if he stuck a toe out of line again, I would no longer be merciful and would nail him to the wall for everything he's done. With how things are now, I can't do that, and he knows it. His devotees would whip the country into a gigantic mob and send them out for my blood. So long as he is viewed as the one person who can end this war, he can act more or less with impunity. Might makes right," she spat.

"And that's why you want to trick him into making a mistake? So you can use that to arrest him?"

"Maybe. Maybe more to prove to myself that I'd be doing the right thing. That comment about him being a Dark Lord? I wasn't joking." She turned to look at the headmistress. "I am truly frightened about what he might do now that there are no laws to restrain him or stop him. If he acts how I worry he will, we might not have any choice _but_ to kill him. And I know how big a leap down a bad road that is," she admitted. "Unilaterally murdering someone because it is 'for the good of the country'? That's just a pretty way to say 'summary execution'. But what else can I do? Let a dictator rise to power just because he has the public's support after killing his predecessor? That's what he would be, and I can't permit that. Not as an Auror. Not as a person with a conscience. But is there a way to stop him from becoming a dictator without taking actions worthy of the title myself? The answer might be no, and that possibility scares me more than I can possibly put into words."

Griselda kept her mouth tightly shut. She was not at all sure how she was supposed to react to this confession. All she knew was that silence was probably a superior choice to saying the wrong thing.

Eyes falling, Amelia turned away and stared out the window again.

* * *

Jen ignored the flaring emerald flames and took another sip of tea. "Right on time, Professor."

"I do try to be punctual, Miss Black." Flitwick hopped up to sit on the couch on the opposite side of the center table. "That said, I really must ask. Isn't it, well, a little too dangerous for the heiress of your House to meet with someone by herself in such difficult times? I would have expected there to be at least one other person else here in case I were Imperiused or an imposter."

She smiled and folded up that morning's copy of the _Daily Prophet_. In a bold move that shocked absolutely no one, the 'Ministry's Mouthpiece' had treated Voldemort's violent takeover of the Ministry as just another day and was now filled with subtle – or, in the case of the editorials, not subtle at all – support for the new blood purist regime. If she had any faith in other people left at all, this would have eradicated the last of it. "Thanks in no small part to your instruction over the last three years, I am the second-most capable member of this family when it comes to defending oneself. The only person better is Dora, who has the complete course of Auror training at her disposal. Viewed in that light, anyone else who could be here to provide assistance would just as likely become a liability and someone I had to protect."

"Perhaps, but even if their skill is inferior—"

"Furthermore," she interrupted with an apologetic smile, "you just made a terrible mistake, the same mistake anyone forcing their way into our home would make." The quarter-goblin watched her warily, but all she did was wave her hand at the fireplace. Her magic twanged the single cord of the wards left open, and the brickwork folded up and slid once more into the floor. She had no clue at all how Sirius managed to give her equal control over this aspect of their war-wards – and as he admitted, neither really did he – but the results spoke for themselves. "I almost wish someone would try to fight me here. It would be interesting to see how well I can defend myself when the full power of my family's legacy is at my disposal."

"No matter how much control you have over the wards, it is not wise to tempt fate," he cautioned.

Control over the wards? She did not even need that. The total awareness of everything that happened in this house, the dark magic that suffused the walls from generations of dark wizards and likely not a few secretive black mages. That alone should give her an insurmountable advantage over even Voldemort should he come to call. She did not admit to any of that, though, and instead replied, "I did say _'almost'_ , did I not? Even I have a limit to my arrogance.

"But that is neither here nor there. The letter you sent yesterday did not contain many details of what you wanted to discuss. About all it told me was that you wanted to meet and when."

She was glad he had given her that forewarning, though. With the Floo network under Voldemort's control, it was too dangerous to leave their fireplace open. They had decided instead to leave it closed up unless they knew someone was coming. It made things inconvenient since Jen was the only one who managed to tap into the new anti-Apparation wards while they were going up and so everyone else in the family had to step outside them to go anywhere, but patching up a big hole in their defenses was worth a little inconvenience.

"I apologize for the vagueness, but this is a subject I did not want to chance leaking to our enemies," apologized Flitwick. "As I'm sure your godfather has told you, for the last several weeks the Ministry has been based in Hogwarts while You-Know-Who has control of London. Word spread about that, and quite a few people decided to move onto the grounds rather than risk the Death Eaters finding them in their homes. Mostly Halfbloods, true, but there is also a substantial number of Pureblood families, and in general recent and current students have come with their families. That is convenient considering that we intend to restart classes soon. Better to give all of you something to do than let you worry yourselves sick," he explained to Jen's look of confusion. "For all that the Halfbloods and Purebloods have made their way to safety, though, there is one group that has not, mostly because they can't."

"The Muggleborns."

"Precisely. For too many of them, the only way they know to get to Hogwarts is via the Express. Some of them surely know about the Floo, and now that Madam Pince has somehow set the castle up with our own private network, we can try to get as many out that way as we can, but hooking all of their homes up to it is impossible. If we want them out, it will have to be on the train. The students and, if we can manage it, their families."

She nodded. She could see the sense in that, she supposed. There was just one problem. "I fail to see what I can contribute to this plan. It sounds like you've already sorted everything out."

"Hopefully, you will not have to contribute anything. We want to keep it all a secret and arrange things so that no one knows we're doing this until it's a _fait accompli_. There is no way to guarantee that, however, no matter how careful we are. There are just too many people who will have to know about it before it is all said and done. If the Death Eaters find out about it ahead of time, they will attack. Far too many opportune targets in a small space."

Ah. Now she understood. "But if there are people defending the train, it should make it to safety even if it is attacked. The issue there is that if the protectors fail, it's more children whom you sent to their grisly deaths."

The diminutive professor nodded sadly. "A fair assessment. Morbid, but fair. Only a small portion of the passengers will be capable of any magic whatsoever, and most of them are too young to know how to defend themselves. We need the best we can get to go along with the train. I suggested calling the Hit Wizards and Patrolmen in, but Minister Bones shot that down. She has too few people already, and she needs all of them in more active roles in the field. The most she could promise was that she would try to arrange several operations to take place on the same day we're trying to save the students and their families. We have no option but to instead use ourselves, our best students, and what few volunteers we can scrape together," finished Flitwick with a sigh.

"Ironic, really, using You-Know-Who's favorite strategy against him," she said with a small smirk.

"Perhaps. It doesn't stop me from worrying." He leaned forward in his seat and stared hard into her eyes. "Miss Black. _Jen_. Of all the students we could possibly ask to help, you are the best of them. I know this. Between the skills I've taught you and your own raw power, you are their best chance to make it from London to Hogwarts alive. Please. We need your help now."

Grinning nastily, she leaned back and picked up the paper again. A man who had beaten her countless times in the arena practically begging for her to lend a hand? They both knew there was only one answer she could give now.

* * *

**In the interest of full disclosure, I have mucked with the real world timeline a little bit for this chapter. By this point in 1997, the general election would have already happened (May 2, while the Hogwarts school year ends sometime in middle-ish June though exact dates are never given), which in real life led to John Major passing the mantle of Prime Minister to Tony Blair. I considered including that wrinkle, but really? Throwing another new character into the mix right now for one scene was just too much work for too little reward.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	6. The Little Engine That Could

**bissek:** If you look back at the last chapter, what Amelia was doing with the Prime Minister's fireplace was shutting down that connection to the Floo Network. It would take someone with perfect recall and an intuitive understanding of the network (like, say, the woman formerly known as Irene Fitzpatrick?) to pinpoint which of the massive number of fireplaces in Britain is the one in the Prime Minister's office.

 **Madrigal-in-training:** Just so you know, your guesses in the dark gave my muse an Idea for later on in the story. I hope you're proud of yourself.

* * *

**Chapter 6  
** **The Little Engine That Could**

For all that it was only early August, Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters was packed to the brim with people and overflowing with their assorted noise. Adults either looking around in amazement or speaking softly in small groups about just what the _'strongly recommended'_ escape from their homes meant about the safety of the world they were about to enter for the first real time. Little kids who did not understand the significance of their hasty flight running around and having fun like they were about to go on a vacation. Older students keeping wary eyes on their families and talking amongst themselves while at the same time keeping their parents from realizing they were just as worried as the adults. Throw in all the Muggle clothing rather than robes she had first seen here when she was eleven years old on top of the dour atmosphere, and all the, well, _magic_ of this little corner of the world was drained away.

Would Hogwarts remain as it had always been or succumb to the same changes? Was it really the situation that made everything look wrong or the people? She had no way to know for sure even as she worried about what those kinds of thoughts meant coming from someone like her.

Her mother huffed and crossed her arms. "Are you listening to me, Hermione?"

"Yes, Mum." In all honesty, _'listen'_ was probably a bit strong, not that she would ever say that to the woman in front of her. Nor would she reveal to her already irate parents that she almost regretted not biting the bullet and going through with her initial plan to keep them safe, namely Memory Charming them into believing they were Australians and sending them on their merry way 'home'. It certainly would have taken them out of the Death Eater's reach, but every book she could find on the subject mentioned or at least implied a time limit of somewhere around a week before the effects of the spell were more or less permanent. There were ways around that, secret messages and locks that could be made part of the spell and would allow her and only her to remove it even a year or two after the casting, but those were one and all extremely delicate, and the potential consequences of messing up were dire. She still might have quashed her understandable hesitance to risk effectively killing the people her parents were now and maybe even drive them mad, but then she had heard that Marchbanks and Hogwarts were offering shelter to anyone who wanted it. Pureblood, Halfblood, Muggleborn, Muggle with connections to their world; it did not matter in the slightest. All were welcome.

Protection through obscurity might work just fine, but protection through going somewhere with actual defenses was much better.

Her parents had not seen it that way. Rather than focus on what the Granger family needed to do next, they were still hung up on the fact that Hermione had significantly whitewashed the various dangers she, Ron, and… and Danny had gotten into over the years. Her explanation had been perfectly reasonable in her mind – namely that by the time she was in a position to tell them, the dangers were already over, and she did not want her parents pulling her away from the few friends she had ever made out of blind hysteria – but they refused to acknowledge the validity of her opinions.

And once that debacle had been settled, there was the fight about how they were not going to drag her away from this war that dried up only after a reminder that she was already an adult in the magical world and could do as she pleased. Did they really think she was going to run away and hide under the bed in another country after her best friend had been kidnapped and was likely being tortured even now? There was no way that was going to happen! The Order was looking for him – at least that was what Ron and Neville had relayed to her over the last two months – but they all knew the truth of the matter. It was going to come down to them to save him, just like it had been up to them to get anything done as early as first year when they were the only ones who could protect the Philosopher's Stone from Quirrell and You-Know-Who.

Merlin, she hoped she didn't become as useless as some of the adults they knew when she got older.

"I don't think you are," her mother retorted, breaking her from her ruminations. "Do you even understand why we're upset? You held back the kinds of things that we, as your _parents_ , deserve to know because you thought you knew best, and then you were going to unilaterally decide what we were going to do without even telling us what was going on—"

Oh, she had no idea just how true that last statement was. "Can we talk about this later, Mum?" Hermione asked. Around them, other families were already starting to board the Express, and even if it were not time to go, this was a discussion she did not want to have at all but particularly not in the middle of a train platform. She would prefer not to have it again at all, but somehow she did not think fate was going to be that kind to her.

Her mother visibly bit her tongue. "We most certainly will talk about it later, young lady. You can count on that." Only once her parents were out of sight did she relax. Why, when a war was being waged around them, did her parents decide that _now_ was a good time to be so obstinate? She was the witch of the family, and really, it was her opinion on what was going on in the magical world that should hold the most weight since she was the only one who knew anything about what was going on.

"That could have gone better," she heard from behind her.

She nodded absently. "They've been like that ever since I told them what was going on with Hogwarts and the war and everything. Would you believe they were talking about pulling me out of school and forcing me to go to another country?"

"My parents weren't happy about everything going on, either, but they didn't go that far," Ron agreed. "They know Hogwarts is the safest place we can go. And now that Dumbledore will be there again?" Walking closer, he laid his hand on her shoulder. "Do you want me to ask Mum and Dad to talk to them? They got along that one time they met back before third year, didn't they?"

"Yes, I suppose they did. Maybe that's the best idea. They refuse to listen to me, but if it was other parents telling them the same thing, they might actually believe what I've been telling them this whole time." Or she could ask Mrs. Potter— No, that was a terrible idea. The Muggleborn noblewoman would be the best person to explain all this to her parents, but she was not going to put Mrs. Potter through that, not when she was still grieving for Danny. That would be heartless beyond compare.

The train's whistle blew, signaling everyone who had not yet moved onto the train itself that it was time for them to get underway. Watching the rest of the crowd file through the doors, she shook her head. One thing at a time. Get everyone to safety, _then_ worry about what she was going to do about her parents. Any plans they made now would be entirely moot if they all died on the way up to the castle.

And with that cheery thought, the doors slid closed behind her, and the train started to move.

* * *

"Okay, everybody, quiet please!" chirped Hannah Abbott in a voice that was far too happy considering what they were about to attempt. "First, I want to thank all of you for volunteering for this. For some of you, it's because you have family here that you want to see make it to safety. For those of you who don't, either because they've left the country already or because you're Half- or Purebloods, thank you for lending your help. This trip is going to be the most dangerous ride we've ever had on the Hogwarts Express, Dementors boarding the train back in third year included, and every trained wand we have on board will make a difference."

Resisting the urge to motion for the newest Head Girl to please just get on with it, Jen settled for a less obtrusive rolling of her eyes and crossing her arms, the sleeves of her conjured jacket sliding against each other. Clearly Marchbanks had very different priorities for her selections than Jen would have had in the headmistress's shoes, even if she could somewhat see the reasoning behind it. With a war going on just outside the castle gates and considering Hogwarts's own opinions on Marchbanks, that she would choose prefects with a reputation for encouragement and unity and peacemaking was not a terrible surprise. The Slytherins were right out as Malfoy and Parkinson were both known blood purists and supporters of Voldemort, while the Gryffindors had never been the most patient or tactful of people. On the other hand, those criteria definitely leaned towards Hufflepuff, the house famous for its communal mindset, hence Abbott standing up there. Anthony Goldstein, Jen's male counterpart, was likewise not the best when it came to enforcing the rules, but his was a gentle soul and he had a reputation for deescalating conflicts.

She personally would have picked at least one person with more of a leaning towards the martial skills, but then again, running around putting out fires would eat up valuable time she could instead use putting down Death Eaters. She was going to be extremely busy this year already without yet another responsibility.

"Obviously, we hope they won't know anything about this until we're all already safe and sound at Hogwarts," Goldstein continued, "but we can't assume that will be the case. We need to be prepared for them to come after us. That's partly why there's no one below our year in here. We're all adults, we know what we're getting into, and for some of us, we're the only trained wizard or witch in our families. It's up to us to make sure we make it to the castle."

"For that reason, we're going to be splitting up. Between the ten of us, we have enough for there to be somebody in each carriage. I know that sounds like a lot of people for all of us to protect," Abbot said before anyone could raise a verbal objection, "but unfortunately it's what we have to work with. If you know of any sixth-years on board that you are sure will be able to help in a fight, let us know so we can get them up to speed"—Goldstein shot her a displeased look but did not interject—"but otherwise we need to make sure the only people waiting to face off against the Death Eaters are those of us who are old enough and well trained enough not to lose our heads in a crisis."

At that, Jen very nearly laughed at her contemporary's bravado, but she managed somehow to keep her disparagement hidden inside. She would not count on anyone else on this train to be able to keep their wits about them once the curses started flying. Not Potter's friends, not Justin, none of them.

Anyone who wanted to enter the world of fighting and killing needed to start somewhere, but in the middle of a war and while on the defensive? Not really the best time to get blooded.

"I don't think that's a good idea." The other seventh-years' heads turned to stare at Granger. Not that the brunette backed down under the pressure. Tenacity was one of the nosy Gryffindor's few good points, albeit so long as it wasn't opposed to Jen's own plans. "We'd be so spread out that we would all be on our own once the Death Eaters attacked. It would be better for us to patrol in pairs or groups of three, and then we would all just need to patrol a few carriages."

"But what happens if the Death Eaters start somewhere where we aren't?" Justin countered. "If we aren't there, everyone on that carriage is dead."

"If we split up, all the Death Eaters have to do is kill us one by one, and then everybody's dead just the same."

Jen shook her head. Both those strategies relied on a very big assumption, one she doubted would even be the case: that the Death Eaters would appear randomly in one or more of the compartments. From her own experience teleporting, she knew how hard it was to land on a moving target as the other students expected the Death Eaters to do. It _could_ be done, no question about that, but it required the witch in question to know exactly where she was going. Considering how long it had been since any of the seasoned Dark wizards had been on the Hogwarts Express, their memories of the interior was too faded for them to succeed. No, any boarding would be done by some other method. To do that, of course, they had to catch up to the train. It would be easiest for them to chase after the Express by broom, at which point they well might land on the veranda on the very last car and make their way forwards.

But how many Death Eaters could really do that? She did not have much experience with brooms, had never needed to use them since she could fly on her own, but the average witch likely could not make that landing at that speed. Those with experience, such as whoever had played Quidditch as a teen, could, but few others. That strategy would greatly limit how many Death Eaters would be attacking at once, and if there was one thing the Death Eaters liked, it was attacking with overwhelming numbers. If it were her, she would send a small number to stop the train itself to make it easier for the main force to attack, and the simplest way to stop the train would—

Oh. Oh, no. That wasn't good.

"It doesn't matter," she muttered. Looking at the brewing argument, she called out, "Quiet!"

"What?!" Granger snapped back.

"It doesn't matter how we arrange ourselves. If the Death Eaters are smart, they won't even try to get on the train in the first place."

"What makes you say that?" Goldstein asked, waving for everyone to hold off talking for the moment.

"We're on a train, going as fast as we can so we can make it to Hogwarts as soon as possible. The Death Eaters want everyone on board dead, and what's the fastest way to accomplish that?" Jen looked over the rest of the seventh-years. "All they need to do is derail the train."

In a mostly Muggleborn group like this, the implications hit hard and fast. "We'd be sitting ducks," whispered Sally-Anne Perks. "A lot of people would die in the crash, and everybody else would be badly hurt. And then if they just blew up the carriages, we wouldn't be able to fight them at all."

She nodded. This plan was beginning to look extremely foolish if the goal was to get people to safety. Why had she agreed to this again? "No matter where we are inside the train, we won't be able to fight them off if they attack. That said…." Jen grinned, the expression all teeth. "If we were _outside_ , we'd be able to see them coming a mile away."

"The roof of the train," Granger said, the first one to catch on. "We ride on top, and we wouldn't have to worry about where anybody else is. We'd be able to see each other but still protect the whole train. Best case scenario, nobody attacks, and we just have to deal with unnecessary sunburn and windburn."

A best case scenario, indeed. Flitwick had said they were doing their best to keep this quiet, so there should be no reason why the Death Eaters knew they were there. All it took was for one person who knew about the plan either to be a traitor or to get captured and interrogated, though, and it would fall apart.

Somehow, she did not think they would get that lucky.

A few minutes later saw them walking through the train, stopping between every carriage so somebody could climb the ladder mounted on the back of the car and take a position on the roof. Settling down in the middle of the ninth car's roof, Jen sliced her hand through the air to split the buffeting winds and give her a modicum of comfort. Even with her thin jacket, it was entirely too crisp for her to handle for long. Her gaze patiently roved over the sky.

They would be ready.

* * *

"This is getting exceedingly boring."

"Can't say I agree with you there," Justin said from beside her, half of his concentration on the version of solitaire he was playing with Exploding Snap cards while the rest was on the surroundings. A bubble of calmer air was the only reason his cards were not currently being swept away by the draft. "I know your family is safe, but my parents are both here. I'm happy with a quiet trip."

Jen sighed. "I appreciate that. I do. But anticipating a fight for our lives is little less stressful than being in one, just without the satisfaction of looking down at Death Eater corpses to make it all worthwhile."

Her lone Muggleborn friend shook his head. Quickly packing the cards up and stuffing them into his pocket, he held out his hand for the pair of binoculars he had brought with him to aid their search. "Okay, if you're starting to fantasize about murdering people, clearly it's time we switch out. I'll take over for a while, and you take a break, all right?"

"I am perfectly capable of continuing on." Ignoring him, she turned her gaze back to the horizon. After the first hour or so of absolutely nothing happening, they had decided they would do better to pair up for their watch so that half their number had a chance to rest their eyes and minds for a little bit. That decision had been made almost five hours ago, and they still had nothing to show for their wariness.

Not a single thing had attacked the train so far. No Death Eaters, no werewolves, no trolls. Nothing.

Jen shielded her eyes from the last rays of the setting sun and peered around. Empty highland as far as she could see, just like last time. She had not lied; she really did understand why Justin was content with such an uneventful trip. If it had been her family on the Express, she would want nothing to happen, too. But as it was?

Well, she still remembered the disturbing dream she had had the night before. A massive grandfather clock, reaching up into the starry sky like a parody of Big Ben. It did not chime or ring but instead filled the world with a bone-rattling _tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock_.

When she awoke, she knew what it meant. The Baron had originally given her until her seventeenth birthday to kill Voldemort. Thanks to the black wizard taking off for foreign lands and the arrival of the Turk the previous year, her patron Power had given her an extension, but even so, the time she had left in which to present Death with Voldemort's head was steadily diminishing. The last thing she wanted was disappoint him. That tended to end… _badly_.

"Hey, Jen?" She looked over to Justin, one eyebrow raised. He was not looking at her, though, his attention instead on something behind them. "Glasses."

Handing the binoculars sitting beside her over to him, she peered in the same direction he was looking. She could not make anything out, though. Maybe a couple of specks in the distance above the sun, but that was all.

Several seconds passed before he lowered the binoculars. "It's nothing. A couple of weird-looking birds."

"Weird-looking?"

"Probably just the angle," he said dismissively. "And I'm not much of a bird enthusiast, anyway. They just looked a little bulky to me when I first saw them."

Bulky? Now curious about what he was talking about, she took the binoculars from him and looked closer at the specks. It was something with which to occupy her time besides the unchanging landscape if nothing else.

He was right about them being weird, she decided after a few long moments. She did not have a good idea about their size, but they looked large. Maybe eagles of some kind, though even at this distance, their heads were a little more squared off than she would have expected. Also unusual was that she could barely make out their feet trailing behind them. Whenever Loki or the owls at Hogwarts flew around, they tended to keep their legs curled up beneath them to be more aerodynamic.

The Express banked around a curve, and the birds turned in the same direction.

She turned her gaze from the birds to the approaching mountains ahead of them. A chill creeped up her spine that had nothing to do with the cool winds. Two birds flying together and turning when the train did? Probably a coincidence. Probably nothing to be worried about. But 'probably' did nothing for her premonitions of dread.

They had been expecting an attack, something they could see coming. But why go through all that trouble when an ambush was so much simpler?

The train had halved the distance between them and the mountains by the time the rest of the seventh-years joined her and Justin atop their carriage. Looking at the frosty peaks, Abbott visibly shuddered. "I hope like hell you're wrong about this, Black."

"I'd rather not be right, either, but I haven't lived this long by ignoring my instincts when they're screaming at me to take cover." Not strictly the truth, but Jen could hardly explain how sure she was that this was where Voldemort's forces would attack because it was what she would do in his shoes. "We all need to be on our guard."

Not even Granger chose to argue with that obvious warning. Instead, they clumped together, split in half between the third and eighth carriages. While her comrades for the day pulled out their wands, Jen shucked off her jacket to reveal the two dark bracers covering her forearms from wrist to elbow. It was an unnecessary show – by now, her reputation for using 'secondary foci' should be so widespread amongst those in her year that they just assumed any wandless magic was cast via an unseen focus – but better to hammer the point a little more than necessary than give anybody room to ask uncomfortable questions. Besides, her warming charm was more effective than the jacket had been.

The train turned a corner, and the rolling hillside they had previously enjoyed was hidden behind a wall of stone. Jen's fingers curled into half-fists while darkening magic thrummed in cold jolts up her spine and down her arms and long-bottled hate roiled in her belly. She was sure her nasty smile would disturb anyone who looked too long at it. With the Death Eaters as her opponents, there was no way she was going to go easy on them.

Every spell she threw today she intended to be fatal.

Silence surrounded them, putting everyone on edge. Ten pairs of eyes roved the rocky ridges that could hide killers or monsters or nothing at all. From where would the attack come? That was the question on all their minds.

Movement caught Jen's eye, but it turned into a mere fluttering of wings. Another eagle? Two Death Eaters with eagles rather than owls as familiars would be unusual, but three? That strained all credulity. Perhaps her caution was unwarranted after all—

"There!" Thomas shouted from the other car. She glanced over to find him pointing at a different spot from the bird she saw, and then, following his finger, she saw only another set of stretching wings.

Thomas bent his head in shame when his neighbors started chastising him, and Jen shook her head. There certainly were a lot of eagles around these mountains, though, which was something she did not recall. Admittedly, she had not paid these mountains much attention. The birds were definitely larger than she would have expected, too. Those wings were large enough that she could almost envision them attached to a witch's back and letting her fly under her own power.

Birds sprang into the airall around them and filled the valley with wild shrieks.

A jet of deep purple light speared into one of the birds, and Jen stared at the rapidly rotting carcass crashing and rolling down the rocky slope. Man-sized but covered in feathers; wide wings instead of arms; long legs ending in cruel talons; an all-too-human head. The chimeric monstrosities screamed as first her victim and then several others fell to break their bodies upon the stones.

"Harpies!" Granger shouted.

Stunners and fireballs and even a Disarming Charm cast by one spectacular idiot filled the skies. Jen unleashed a trio of curses while trying to remember all she could about the beings before them. Harpies, intelligent bird–human chimeras that had a predilection for human flesh. They were not like vampires or werewolves or Veela; they did not require mankind for reproduction. They, as did the Lilin, saw humans only as a source of food. That made them less than sympathetic to the various Ministries of the world, and as a result they were by and large pushed to the least habitable fringes of the world to limit both their access to Muggles as well as their sheer numbers. Looked at in that light, it was obvious why they would choose to support Voldemort if he went to them promising freedom from wizardkind's restrictions.

The harpies' drive to stop the train and thereby win the chance to prey on whomever they desired had one major flaw. Without hands, their only weapons were their talons, and those provided poor defense against the seventh-years spellwork. Even if the other students only knocked the attackers unconscious, the fall from the sky to the mountainside below was enough to crack open skulls and crush chests. A full third of the harpies launching themselves against the train fell before an ear-splitting shriek rang out, and the feathered fiends fled upwards out of the range of Jen and the others' spells and then out of sight.

All the while, the train kept chugging along.

Abbott waved Jen's group over, and the five of them hopped across the carriage roofs to join with their other half. "Is that it?" Perks asked once Jen calmed the winds around them so they could actually hear one another without shouting. "Are they gone for good, or are they going to come back?"

"You-Know-Who wouldn't pick a bunch of birds to fight us all by themselves," Justin said in a firm voice that stood at odds with the way he was shivering. "There's something else waiting for us. There has to be."

"Maybe not." Everyone turned to look at Granger, who was shaking her head. "I don't think they were sent to waylay us. They could have harried us, distracted us from someone else attacking at the same time, but they didn't do that. They were alone. If You-Know-Who knew where we were, he would have sent wizards. It just doesn't make any sense."

"So it's just a coincidence that they were here?" demanded Goldstein. "That's hard to believe."

The Lion gave him a haughty look. "Are you sure about that? Harpies make their nests in the mountains. They're a lot like peregrine falcons that way. This isn't necessarily the best place they could roost if You-Know-Who wanted them to be close by, but it isn't out of the question that they might have claimed this region as their own regardless of what he wanted."

But why would Voldemort just let them roost here out of the way? "How intelligent are they?" Jen asked. "Can they speak a human language, or do they only screech?"

"Speech is a poor measure of animal or being intelligence, I'll have you know." Yes, because any witch at all who had a familiar needed to be told something as obvious as _that_. "But harpies definitely have human-level intelligence. They're predatory, not stupid. As for intelligible speech, I really don't know," Granger trailed off.

"But if You-Know-Who brought them here, he probably had some way to communicate with them. Maybe a translator, maybe pantomime, but something." Granger nodded. "And if he lets them stay all the way out here, he'd give them a way he can get in touch with them when he needs them."

Everyone grew pale. "And if he can talk to them, they can probably talk to him, too," Thomas said.

"Which means the survivors who just left are going to let him know we're here. He's onto us." The lingering rays of the sun died below the mountain peaks, and cold shadows encroached on the train. "And they'll be coming."

* * *

**Bleugh. Just gonna cut the chapter here rather than keep fighting with it. It turns out escort missions are as boring to write as they are to play.**

**I'm… not sure how Sally-Anne Perks managed to survive so long in this slaughterhouse of a story when she didn't even make it to the end of book 5 in canon, but somehow she did. I was just as surprised as the rest of you.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	7. Attacks from the Shadows

**Alex The Rogue:** "Building anticipation". I guess that's nicer than saying it was boring. ;-) I wanted to get the entire confrontation in one chapter, but it fought me the whole time I was writing it to the point that I actually scrapped my previous plans for the second half and came up with something else entirely.

 **The Sinful:** We don't actually know what happened to Sally-Anne in canon. She showed up in book 1 during the sorting, but her name wasn't on the rolls for the OWL exams in book 5. There are a couple of stories describing what might have happened to her, but truly, I think Rowling just forgot about her. It's one of the reasons I (try to) keep the character list on my computer up to date.

 **London Knight, monkeyboy99:** I'll admit it, I'm no expert on trains, US or UK. I was drawing from memory on trains that, yes, I've seen in Westerns and the countryside seen during the train scenes in the Harry Potter movies because I didn't (and still don't) have the time to research that subject as thoroughly as I should have. Is there an easy way to fix that that won't require rewriting now two chapters?

 **Big Fan:** Considering the Department of Mysteries debacle was probably just as much of a threat as the Battle of Hogsmeade (fewer enemies, true, but only the six students and nowhere to bunker down) but canon Hermione still thought she knew best and went through with the mutilation of her parents' memories about… everything, I think that degree of arrogance is in character for her. As for the Order? We never get to see much of the Order's attitude toward Dumbledore in the books, so I'm using Harry's own seeming inability to see his multitudinous flaws as a baseline for their cultish devotion. Dumbledore himself isn't senile so much as he's had decades of people telling him that he knew best, and combining unfiltered praise with his own natural pride and arrogance is a BAD combination. I don't know how many more chapters this story will be, but I do know that this is the last book in the series.

Oh, and about Danny. Sympathy, definitely sympathy. He's not having a good time.

* * *

**Chapter 7  
** **Attacks from the Shadows**

Ten seventeen-year-olds huddled around a bowl full of pastel blue flames. After several long minutes of furious thinking, they had all come to the same conclusion, one they truly did not like. Another mountain passed by silently before Abbott sighed. "Does anyone have any ideas? Any at all?"

Jen shook her head as one with the rest of them, and Granger finally voiced what was running through all of their heads. "If You-Know-Who didn't know about this before, he does now. I don't know if he'll send Death Eaters after us while we're still in these mountain ranges, but once we're out, they'll swarm us. We can't stay on the train. We can't leave, either. We're the only ones who can Apparate, but we can't Side-Along all our families and the other students and their families to Hogwarts at one time. There are just too many people. Trying to take them a few at a time and then come back to the train is too risky. Between a moving target and the fatigue, we'd Splinch ourselves for sure, and then we'd be stuck."

"What about stopping the train?" asked Perks. "Wouldn't that make things easier?"

"It would if we could, but we can't. According to _Hogwarts, A History_ , the engine was enchanted to run back and forth along the tracks after being given a time and date of departure. It was a convenient piece of technology, but none of the wizards of the time understood how to conduct a train, and they weren't willing to learn nor to tell a Muggle about magic so he could do it for them. There's usually an adult wizard on board to make sure the spells laid upon it don't fail, and he would know how to stop us, but everything was arranged in such secrecy that he wasn't informed. There's no one on the train but us."

Tilting her head, Jen looked curiously at the Gryffindor. "How do you know that last part? The enchantment I could understand reading about, but not whether or not the conductor was told about this."

The brunette was just close enough that Jen's sonar could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, but her voice was firm when she replied, "Professor Dumbledore told Ron and me yesterday."

"And you trusted him?" she scoffed. Surprise, surprise; the Junior Division of the Order of the Phoenix was still suckling at their master's teat. She would have expected the loss of Potter to shake their slavish devotion, even if just a little, but it seemed they were too brainwashed even for that to open their eyes. "That's a dangerous mistake."

"He was right, wasn't he?"

"That's why it's dangerous. When he tells the truth, it's a guarantee the next thing he says will be a lie, but you'll refuse to see it."

"Is now really the time?!" Goldstein demanded. "Let's focus on actually surviving the night first."

Granger scowled but looked away. "Fine."

Jen opened her mouth to agree until an important little fact bubbled up to the forefront of her mind. Order of the Phoenix. Their emergency portkeys. A twitch of her finger cast a spell on both Granger and Weasley, but to her displeasure, no glows came from the pair's pockets. She supposed that made sense, however inconvenient it was. Portkeys only lasted a few hours, so even if Dumbledore had given them a couple right before they got on the train, there was a good chance the spells would have already worn off. Furthermore, she would have used her own the second they ran into trouble had her family been on the train, so the very fact that Granger was still here was proof enough on its own that the Muggleborn girl did not have one.

She added that onto her list of spells to learn. She had used Portkeys a couple of times, but they were such complex pieces of magic that she would need more than a passing glance to figure the spell out. At none of those occasions had she possessed the time to do so. That would need to be rectified at the earliest opportunity; it was too useful a spell not to know.

"Can't move back and forth too many times, can't take everyone with us at once, can't stop the train," Macmillan summed up. "What if we just jump off the train? We aren't going any faster than a Bludger, so while it would hurt, we'd be mostly okay. A couple of Cushioning Charms would make it even easier. Then we just have to Apparate back and forth, no moving required."

"Great idea," retorted Michael Corner with no little sarcasm. "Just one problem. A hit from a Bludger is more than enough to kill somebody without magic. If they bounce off the Cushioning Charm onto rock that isn't nice and soft, it could be one of our parents or siblings who's laying there dying. And they _would_ bounce. It's what always happens with that charm."

Jen tapped her fingernails against the metal roofing. It always came back to the numbers. Too many passengers for too few trained witches, too many trips to be safe. Maybe everyone could vote on the half of their families they liked least, she thought with a morbid smile. Transfigure them into toads for a laugh, and then they would only have half as many people to worry about coming back for—

"We transfigure them."

Weasley blinked at her. "What?"

"There are too many people, so we turn them into something else. Blocks, coins, what have you. Something small enough we could stuff them into bags and then Apparate ourselves and the bags to Hogsmeade." She frowned as another thought came to her. "Shrink the luggage, too. Might have to cast space-extension spells on the bags to fit everything, but then we're there."

"If it's animate to inanimate transfiguration… It _might_ work," Granger agreed, her extreme reluctance visible for all to see. "They wouldn't remember anything while they were transformed, and since they would be objects that can't think, they couldn't fight being Side-Alonged. That's the reason it's so hard to Apparate with someone else, especially against their will. The transfiguration will be difficult for the same reason, but it should be less."

 _I hope she didn't strain herself agreeing with me_ , she thought with a sharp little smile. Now was probably not the best time to say it, though. Petty she could be, but at the moment the time until they ran into the Death Eaters was rapidly counting down. She would just have to prod the other girl about it later.

Perks waved her hand slightly to get everyone's attention. "What if the Death Eaters are waiting for us in Hogsmeade? We'd be walking right into a trap."

Jen frowned, considering that very real possibility. Normally, she would have been able to check that without any problems, but her scrying mirror, along with all the rest of her less than legal possessions, she had sent to the castle in Loki's talons. "Someone's going to have to go to the station and check."

"Except that just combines both sets of problems!" Granger snapped. "Whoever went would have to keep from being spotted by the Death Eaters. If they were caught, they'd be tortured into revealing everything they knew. And even if they managed to escape unseen, they'd still have to Apparate back, which—"

Tuning the Gryffindor out, Jen closed her eyes and felt the world only with her sonar. Nine unique magical cores, flames burning merrily in a bowl without damaging anything, the cool metal of the train. With a deep breath, her body twitched and her mind twisted…

…and she felt sticks and leaves appear beneath her hand.

She stood up and dodged the limbs of the four young oak trees growing together in a small rectangle. A small clearing overlooking the ruined and only partially rebuilt Hogsmeade, the same clearing where she and Luna had eaten lunch during their first date. It was a shame that her memories of that afternoon would have to be stained by the grisly work that potentially lay ahead of her, but such was war. There was little its touch could not violate.

The world beneath slipped silently away while she flew towards the station, her clothes charmed black to better match the darkness around her. She alighted on a nearby branch and frowned thoughtfully at the people already standing around. New recruits, she decided as she watched them, all of them jumping and immediately scurrying away on some task or another any time the only wandering figure drew close and presumably said something to them. Their instructor? Drill sergeant? At the least, the one leading them on this mission. Probably the only actual dangerous one, she decided as she watched two of the greenhorns wander into a stretch of trees just a short distance from where she lurked to relieve themselves. The buddy system was only useful so long as the pair kept each other in sight, not faced opposite directions out of modesty.

 _That being said…_ , she thought with a wicked smile.

Two quick flicks of her hand sent a metal spike into the nearest one's forehead and then yanked his body into the air to land on the other side of a fallen tree several yards behind her. The survivor finished and turned around to find himself alone. "Michaels?"

A second spike through his chest kept him from asking again.

That was two down, leaving— She counted the visible figures quickly. —ten more to go. No, eleven; one had just come into view from farther down the tracks. She cracked her knuckles. Time to get to work.

Conjuring a sphere in her hand, she whispered into the glass and tossed it in the middle of some bushes near another recruit. The sound caught his attention, and he moved to investigate the soft snuffling of a lost child coming from the shrubbery. A twist of her wrist caused a sharp twist of his head on his neck. Returning to the air, she floated down to him and laid a hand on his corpse. She did not want to use regular curses since the lights they produced would be easily visible in the darkness, but with physical contact, there was no flash as her unique corruption curse rotted his body into dust and dirt. Picking up his wand to destroy it, she almost went through with it before an idea crossed her mind. It was unlikely to work, even if she could find what she needed, but if she could manage it….

A nod of her head, and the wand was slipped into her pocket. She would need to gather the wands from the other two she killed, but that could wait until the rest of their compatriots were disposed of.

Back aloft she went, moving unseen to the roof of the station where she had a good vantage point to see the rest of the Death Eaters. Whom to go after first? A trio of recruits stood a short distance away, talking softly while they worked; they would be too difficult to pick off one by one, but there was no need to waste time. Creating another glass sphere, she imbued it with a different spell before she banished it at their feet. The fragile shell shattered and unleashed a thick toxic fog that sent them all to the ground. It would not kill them – not immediately, anyway – but she could finish that once the rest of the group was dead.

That attack, unfortunately, was blatant enough to get the rest of the Death Eater's attentions, and they all turned towards the smoke and pointed their wands in that general direction. Not what she wanted, but so long as they were not aiming at her, she could work with it. Another spike to the head of the wizard farthest back, and this body she flung into the sky. His wand came to her and was pocketed.

"Spread out!" the veteran killer shouted, and the greenhorns jumped to obey him. Unfortunately for him, they quickly noticed that their number had been whittled down to just the five of them, six including their leader. Half their group gone without any of them noticing until just now? That was enough to put all of them on edge.

Then the airborne body came back down and hit the ground.

The unnerved group spun back around and started casting spells indiscriminately. Because they were not paying attention where they were pointing their wands, several caught the recruit closest to the front in his back, and he fell to the onslaught of dark magic. Too bad.

"Come out here!" the lead Death Eater called out, turning in a slow circle as if he believed she would show herself. "Is this all you're capable of, skulking in the shadows?! Coward!"

She grinned, the expression crafty and cruel. Had she been a Gryffindor, who made up the bulk of Dumbledore's Order, that taunt might have been an effective one. People who considered themselves brave and noble first and foremost would take poorly to being called cowards. She, on the other hand, prided herself on her intelligence and her cunning. The Death Eaters were scared, and from the looks of it, either their leader had no way of contacting his higher-ups or he did not want to look bad to his own superiors by failing to do something as simple as hold an empty train station. Furthermore, he had to hold himself together, else his charges would throw up their hands and run somewhere they were not in such mortal peril. Voldemort's clutches were probably safer than her killing ground.

Jen blinked. Oh, that would be _bad_. Focusing on the weave of her magic, she quickly erected a paling against Apparation. The very last thing she needed was somebody escaping to their master and telling him what was going on. Voldemort she could and would kill. Voldemort at the head of an army while she was alone would be just a little more difficult.

While she was otherwise occupied and had not responded to the lead Death Eater's threat, he had gathered his remaining fighters and now had them standing back to back, their wands pointed outwards so no one could sneak up on them. He was not in the middle as she halfway expected he would place himself; instead, he was off to one side a short distance, expectantly turning around and around to catch a glimpse of her as she moved to a better position.

This was going to be a little more difficult.

Wrapping what little ambient light there was around her to render herself invisible, she floated down until she was almost touching the ground and drifted in the direction of the larger group. Outside of Hogwarts's wards, her sonar's range was limited to a mere ten feet, but she was not so far off course that she missed the quartet. Another conjuration, another curse and charm, and she bent down so the sphere would be below their fields of view when it left her hand and floated between two wizards' legs and came to a gentle stop on the grass.

Back to the sky she went, heart beating faster in anticipation and the understandable nervousness that came from being within arm's reach of those who wanted her dead. Moving above the leader, she let her power build within her until it was honestly painful to contain.

Several things happened at once. Her right hand came down, unleashing the lightning bolt she had shaped her magic into. Her left hand clenched into a fist, shattering the orb within and driving sharp shards of glass into her skin. The sphere among the young would-be killers broke when its fellow did, spilling out another cloud of toxic gas. And the lightning bolt coursed through the leader, burning his nerves and organs as it rushed to the ground.

Five bodies hit the ground, and then there was quiet.

After that was just the clean up. Killing Curses at everyone she was not completely sure was already dead. Picking up the wands for later experimentation. Gathering all the bodies into one spot and burning them. Satisfied that all was as it should be, she pictured the top of the train she had left and once more spun herself through space.

Her feet touched steel and were flung out from beneath her, and she rolled a couple of meters from the unexpected force before coming to a stop. Looking up at the nine wands pointed at her in surprise, she picked herself up and brushed herself off. "Okay, we're moving a little faster than I thought we were."

"Merlin, Black, don't surprise us like that," Abbott huffed. She and the other prefects lowered their wands. "You were gone longer than I thought you'd be. There aren't any Death Eaters waiting for us, are there?"

How would the Head Girl respond to the honest answer of _'Not anymore_ '? Probably not well. "Nope."

"You're sure? None hiding or anything?"

"I'm sure," she said with a smile. "I was very thorough."

The other prefects had already decided who would go where while she was gone – Justin was apparently the only one who expected her to succeed in her scouting and return to the train – so Jen made her way to the last train and hopped down onto the small platform between carriages. Opening the door, she was soon greeted by the nervous faces of the Muggles hiding within. "What's going on?" one man demanded, while a woman a few doors down piped up, "Is everything okay?"

"Can everybody hear me?" she said in reply, walking towards the center of the car while yet more heads poked out of the doors. "I will be frank with you. We hit a little snag." They all started panicking, and she started rubbing her hands together. "BUT! We have also figured out a way around that problem. It won't be any more inconvenient for you than riding this train has been. I do need to ask for your help with this solution, though. Nothing much," she added with a cheery smile, "all I need you to do is"—she clapped her hands together—" _sleep_."

The Muggles fell to the ground before she could finish the word, the magic she had built up and shaped with her hands washing over them with her clap. "Huh. That was easier than I expected," she muttered to herself. A few waves of her hand turned them all to wooden sculptures, and then she pulled a small bag out of her pocket. Shoving her hand inside, she stretched the space within until she was shoulder-deep in the bag. She then twirled her hand while turning around in a slow circle.

All of the wooden people, along with their luggage, floated into the air and bobbed towards her, shrinking to the size of matchboxes so that even more stuff could fit inside the single bag. A peek revealed that there was still plenty of room for more. Pulling the drawstrings tight, she tied it onto her belt and made her way out. The other prefects would probably try to talk their carriages' passengers into agreeing to go through with it, but sleeping people were just as vulnerable to transfigurations at those willing to be changed.

The edge of the mountain range was in sight when the slowest of the seventh-years – Granger, specifically, which Jen made note of with no little amusement – finally made it back to the roof. "Everybody ready?" Abbott asked. "No one's left behind?"

A wave of shaking heads was her answer.

"And the platform's clear, Black?"

"It was. I can't make any guarantees about now."

The Hufflepuff grimaced. "I guess that will have to do. And three, two, one—" Nine cracks sounded, and the students vanished.

Jen hopped off the train, taking to the skies and wrapping herself in shadows. It was by no means as effective as her invisibility, merely a blurring of her silhouette, but it did not impede her vision. She wanted to see if they had cut it as close as she thought they had.

The train passed the last mountain without any issues, and it continued on for another quarter mile before the rails beneath the engine exploded. The force buckled the remaining rails, and the other carriages tilted wildly and slammed into each other. Black garbs swarmed out from behind cover and beneath invisibility cloaks. Butter-yellow curses flashed from the Death Eaters' wands, and the carriages collapsed under the onslaught, metal and glass shattering and crumpling. They crept carefully towards the crippled train, their caution making Jen hold back her laughter when their shouts of rage drifted up to her ears. Could she…?

No. She shook her head. There were too many for her to pick off one by one, and building up enough magic to cast a curse large enough to kill them all in a single strike would take too long even if the weave of her spell concentration did not start fraying before it could reach the necessary size. All she would do by hurrying would be alerting them to her presence, or worse, revealing tricks they did not know she had so they would be ready for them next time. She was powerful, yes, but power alone was not enough. She had to be crafty, too.

She spun around and Disapparated, reappearing on the train platform where the other seventh-years were already a goodly distance away, clearly having decided not to wait for her again. She would drop off her cargo first, and then….

She reached down to pat the pocket stuffed with thirteen wands. And then she would figure out how to use these to best effect.

* * *

The ring of Voldemort's bootsteps on the strange floors of Azkaban was the only sound any of the inmates could hear. None of them spoke, none dared attract his ire. Many held their breaths when he passed, only letting them out once he was out of sight.

They had reason for their fear. After seizing the Ministry, he had sent Rookwood with a number of new recruits – some more willing than others – to speak with the inmates who had filled the cells after his own rescue mission and release those who were willing to join the cause. All those left behind Voldemort had no interest in and little reason to free.

All except one.

Stopping in front of the cell in question, he peered through the barred window at the enormous man squeezed into the little cell. "I do hope you are enjoying the irony of our situations."

"Come in 'ere an' I'll tell yeh what I'd enjoy."

The Dark Lord smiled. "Tell me something, Rubeus Hagrid. You dedicated yourself to Albus Dumbledore. You refused my offer to release you if you would only pledge yourself to me. Yet how has your devotion helped you? Has it called Dumbledore to your side? Has it seen you freed, even before I took control over this prison? What do you gain from continuing to follow a doddering old fool who can't even—"

"Dumbledore's a great man!" the half-giant roared. "A great man! Better than you! He's no Dark Lord. He's not evil. He's good, and he'll beat yeh and win this war. Yeh've got nothing I want."

Voldemort's smile was vicious and as far from kind as it could possibly be. "Will he? I'm reminded of that time you tried and failed to hide that you were raising an Acromantula. Bad enough you were caught, but then you were accused of being the Heir of Slytherin and attacking all those mudbloods. Do you remember that, Hagrid? Do you remember how no one believed you and your protests of innocence?" Hagrid's frown twisted, clearly confused. Was it because he did not remember that event after fifty-something years, or was it because he was trying to piece together why the Dark Lord would know the details about something so trivial? "Not even Dumbledore really believed you, did you know that? Oh, he stopped you from going to prison that time, but he could have done more. He even could have stopped you from being expelled. But he didn't. You weren't important enough for him to go through that much effort."

"How… Who are you?"

"That no longer matters. The only question that matters now is, will you join me?"

Hagrid hurled himself at the door. "I'll never help yeh!"

Stepping back with a sigh, Voldemort had to admit that he was not terribly surprised. He had though he might be able to convince Hagrid to change his blind loyalty to him rather than Dumbledore, but he knew even before he came here that the chances of such a thing happening would be slim. Half-giants might not have the sheer strength of their purer cousins, but they were more intelligent, capable of using a wand, and possessed a comparable resistance to offensive spells. He would much rather have half-giants than full giants serving as his shock troops, but sadly they were not at all common; half-giants and their human parents were rarely accepted in human society, and that generally prevented interbreeding even before considering the anatomical challenges. It was just his luck that the one half-giant he had ready access to was too simple-minded to act in his own self-interest.

"I am sorry to hear that, but you seem to have misunderstood something. I asked only if you would join the Death Eaters of your own free will.

"That you will help me was never in question."

* * *

**If the train station stealth-fighting seems somewhat familiar, the answer is yes, I have been filling my free time with** _**Rise of the Tomb Raider** _ **for the last couple of weeks. Video games were a lot easier to get into than writing when shift work kept screwing up my schedule. And if the fight wasn't familiar… well, I hope you enjoyed it anyway.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	8. Fitful Rest

**Secundum:** That Jen picked up thirteen wands is surely just a coincidence, right? Right? …No, really, it was just a coincidence, and maybe me having thirteen on the brain. That number tends to show up again and again in this series.

 **Acerman:** I have lots of _possible_ plans, and three stories I really need to get off the ground. The problem is picking which one I want to work on next and finding the time to do so.

 **saya4haji:** Oh, don't you worry. Jen's going to get an even better opportunity to screw Hermione over soon enough.

* * *

**Chapter 8  
** **Fitful Rest**

"Welcome, everyone, to this new year at Hogwarts. I know the world outside the castle has become far more dangerous this past summer, but I promise you, so long as you stay inside the grounds, we can and will protect you…"

Jen tuned Marchbanks out. The old woman was trying, she would give her that much, but reassuring platitudes were not going to do much. Britain had only gotten worse in the month since the Muggleborn students and their families fled to Hogwarts, and all she had to do was look out the window to find the proof. The tent city on the front lawn had been a shock when she and the other seventh-years had brought their charges to the school, and it had only grown between then and now. How many people were living on the grounds? Three thousand? Four? The population of magical Britain was only eighty thousand or so, which meant there was a substantial portion camped out here. Then add in all the people who were not living here full-time but still came and went via Hogwarts's new dedicated Floo system, and the numbers just kept on growing.

The sudden boom of inhabitants were surely a blessing for the house elves, and if she were the one in charge of their defenses, it would provide a healthy influx of fighters for the Ministry, volunteers and conscripts both. There was no telling if Amelia Bones had the same idea, though it would depend in large part on whose advice she was listening to these days….

She cast an evil eye at the all-too-familiar face sitting at the staff table. Sadly, she could guess why Albus bloody Dumbledore was here, and it was not just because Marchbanks needed somebody to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Dumbledore had power. He had experience. He had a reputation for being a 'good guy' that could draw those people still devoted to him to the Ministry's side, and a reputation for being the one wizard Voldemort feared that could stay those who had yet to decide whom they would support. He was also a sanctimonious pain in the arse, but war and politics both made for strange bedfellows, and if Bones was as desperate as she guessed the older witch was, she would take whatever advantage she could find, no matter how distasteful it was on a personal level.

And therein lay the rub. No matter how much Jen enjoyed the results of her life, the fact remained that Dumbledore was ultimately responsible for her abandonment, her abuse, her rape. One bad turn deserved another, and she was going to make him pay for crossing her one way or another. Voldemort may be at the top of her list because the Baron demanded his head, but as soon as her task was complete, or earlier if at all possible, she was going to relieve Dumbledore of his own. Putting up with a distasteful but necessary ally was all well and good, but there were some lines that could not be crossed with impunity.

"Are you trying to set him on fire with your eyes?" Morag whispered in her ear. "Because if you are, it's not working."

She grinned and turned to the Scotswoman. "Is it not working, or have I yet to truly try, hmm?"

"No, you're trying. That was the same look you gave your father when he was teaching."

Flicking her glare at Morag this time, she turned back to the desserts that had populated the table after Marchbanks's speech. "Did she say anything important, or was it all just different iterations of _'Stay calm and everything will be all right_ '?"

"Mostly that," agreed Padma, "but also that the Ministry and DMLE have taken over the north wings of the castle and we should stay out of their way, Edinburgh trips are cancelled for the foreseeable future—"

"Whoever could have guessed that would happen?"

Padma shook her head at the interruption. "And that we aren't supposed to leave the grounds for any reason unless we have volunteered to assist the DMLE. That option's only open to people seventeen or older, though."

Her eyebrows rose in surprised interest. The DMLE was openly recruiting amongst the students? That was _not_ what she would have predicted. She thought the Ministry would have put their foot down and refused to accept anyone who had yet to finish their education. Were they more desperate than she expected, or was there something else going on in the background unseen? "I wonder if Susan is going to volunteer," she thought out loud.

Luna joined the other two in their shrugs, her eyes still pointedly not aimed at Jen. Which was interesting considering the blonde kept looking at her whenever Jen could not see her. Jen just shook her head; in hindsight, dating one's roommate was a terrible mistake. The last member of their little quintet at the Ravenclaw table had yet to say anything, and she met the other girl's eyes with a questioning gaze. "Is something wrong?"

Tracey shook her head, the lie ruined by the tension in every line of her body. "Just not looking forward to tonight."

Yes, that was going to be a problem. Every table held empty places, students whose parents had taken them out of the country so as to be far, far away from the horrors of civil war, but none was so depopulated as the Slytherins. The reasoning there was different, of course. Their parents likely had not run off but instead did not want to put their children in the enemy's grasp, either because they were blood purists and so supported Voldemort or had too many connections to the Death Eaters to make a fuss about how things were being done. Most of her missing baby Snakes were probably among the latter, but considering Cissy's own views, she did not particularly care so long as they did not raise their wands against her. And then there were those like Malfoy and the Greengrass sisters who proved to be the exception to the rule.

The rest of the student body were not making a secret of their wary glares at that table, either. Death Eater spawn or not, every Slytherin was going to be tarred with the same brush. That put Tracey in a precarious position indeed. She would have no allies amongst her housemates, but the other houses would see only the green border of her robes. With tensions as high as they were, she was going to get hurt unless she had someone watching her back, and Jen could not be there every second of the day to make sure no one tried to stick a knife in it.

She was good. She wasn't that good.

Classes, meals, and afterwards were not that large a hurdle; Tracey could stay with them from breakfast until almost curfew. It was the nights that were the problem. Then again, that might be a simple problem to fix. Nodding decisively, she spooned up the last bit of pudding and let the bowl and spoon vanish with the rest of the dishes. "I may have a solution to that."

"What kind of solution?" Tracey asked in a cautious voice. "I've seen that look in your eyes before. It never bodes well."

She smiled, the expression sure to put her best friend at ease. "Don't you trust me?"

"…I don't feel comforted right now."

A roll of her eyes, and she grabbed Tracey's hand to stop her from slinking away after the rest of the Slytherins. Her proposal would look much better if its beneficiary cooperated. "Professor Flitwick," she called as the quarter-goblin made his way down from the staff table, "could we have a moment of your time?"

The tiny teaser looked at them and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "I might be able to spare a few. Is there a problem, Miss Black, Miss Davis?"

"There is. We need to talk about sleeping arrangements."

"Now, Miss Black," he said with a sly smile, "I thought we had discussed how that was not a conversation a student should have with her head of house. And rebound relationships never work out well."

Her glare did little but turn his words into quiet snickering. "Not what I was talking about, and you know it. I don't believe it would be in Tracey's best interests for her to continue living in the Slytherin dorms. With the war, tensions are going to be at an all-time high, and Tracey is a Neutral Halfblood in a house filled with Dark-aligned blood purists. She would be beset on both sides, and with some students still attending whose parents are at best unopposed to You-Know-Who's philosophies, I have good reason to fear that something _unfortunate_ might happen to her before only a few days have passed."

"I do see your point," Flitwick replied, much of his joking manner put away now. "For myself, I have no problem with Miss Davis moving into your and Miss Lovegood's room while the war rages, but it is not purely my decision as I am not Miss Davis's head of house." He turned around to face the staff table. "What do you think, Severus?"

"Think of what?" he drawled, scratching out something on a sheet of parchment. Last-minute syllabus changes, maybe? "I have no interest in teenagers' romantic misadventures. Your prefect should remember, though, that I myself was a Halfblood Slytherin during a war, yet I survived."

Jen braced one hand on her hip. "And how else did that work out for you in the end, sir?"

He paused and rubbed his left forearm through his sleeve where the Dark Mark once lay. "Mistakes were made," he finally admitted.

"And you want her to make those same mistakes?"

Snape huffed and picked the quill back up. "I don't care one way or another. If that is all that will stop her whining, Filius, just let her do what she wants. We all know you're going to bend to her whims eventually."

Flitwick tilted his head curiously at that response, and a similar expression was plastered over Jen's face. She was normally quite skilled at picking up on hidden meanings, but whatever Snape was trying to say was flying over her head.

Something to think about, but now was not the time. She pulled Tracey away after Flitwick promised to have the elves move her belongings to the Ravenclaw tower and only stopped once they were out of the Great Hall. "That was odd," she finally said.

"Oh, good," Tracey said in a forcibly bright tone, "I was afraid it was just me."

The trek up to the Ravens' nest was a quick one after three years' familiarity, and the knocker nodded to her before challenging her with its habitual riddle. Tracey's appearance at this late hour did earn her a few curious glances from some of the other Ravenclaws, but that aside, no one paid her any particular attention. Likely because not only were they seventh-years, the eldest students present, but the rest of the house had been trained to think things like a Slytherin wandering around their common room were the norm rather than a rarity. Jen had had little to do with the current sixth-years, but the rest? The first members of the little group she had put together, something created with the idle thought of showing the young Ravens and Snakes how much they had in common, would under normal circumstances already be focusing on taking their OWL exams.

By the Baron, had it been that long already? They had just been firsties and second-years when she met them.

"We're getting old," she muttered as they climbed the stairs.

"Speak for yourself. I'm still in my prime."

The girls' dorm room was a familiar and welcome sight, even if Jen could have done without the probing stare she was getting from Luna. "I think I'm missing something," the blonde said in a light voice. "Not that I'm not pleased to see you again, Tracey, but I expected it to be tomorrow."

Tracey took one look between the former lovers and took a hasty couple of steps back before the claws could come out. Smart girl.

Jen, on the other hand, did not have the patience to humor Luna's sudden show of angst. Her ex-girlfriend had treated her with cold civility for several months after their break-up, and their damaged friendship had only just begun regaining some warmth when the summer hols arrived. The refusal to come to her birthday party was polite but distant, not a terrible surprise. This, though, made little sense. First Snape, now Luna; was everyone around her going insane? "She's going to stay with us for a while. Too much of a risk that one of You-Know-Who's pets will try to stick a knife in her back if she doesn't have somebody watching it."

Luna's eyes grew wide and whipped back to Tracey. When she next spoke, her attitude was back to what passed for normal for the quirky girl. "Is she serious? Would they do something like that?"

"Not normally, but with everything else going on outside?" Tracey shrugged helplessly. "Maybe."

"Well, make yourself at home, then. We just need to make some space. Our beds are a little bigger than…" Trailing off, the blonde licked her lips and turned a sheepish expression from her own unremarkable single bed to the most powerful witch in the room. "Jen? Could you, er, make the room a little bigger? And maybe enlarge the beds again? Please?"

It would be a lie to say she was not sorely tempted to ignore Luna's request. When they were dating, even skirting around the topic, she had been more than willing to do so, but now that Luna was making an irritant of herself? Then again, she did have to share a room with the other girl for the next ten months, and needling her on the first night back would make it so that this school year was that much more frustrating. A sigh, and then a wave of her hand doubled the size of the room while the two singles broke apart to reform into three queens. Nauthiz runes carved onto the beds to maintain that spell, a single othala set among three isa carved into the air itself to keep the extended space from collapsing in on itself, and Jen tossed her hair as she turned back to her friends. "Good enough?"

"Yes, that's fine," Luna replied without looking at her.

"Good."

"Dear Merlin, how did I get stuck in the middle of this?" Tracey asked not quite softly enough.

Jen waved the three girls belongings to the foot of their beds, and just for that comment, Tracey received the center bed. It also meant she served as a useful barrier between Jen and Luna, because really, was that not what best friends were for?

And with that cheery thought, it was high time that she went to bed and this day ended.

Of course, there was one slight problem with that plan, namely that she was not going to go to bed in her clothes, and she had no nightclothes in her trunk. Nor did she want to wear such things in the first place, which eliminated the simple answer of conjuring a set. A moment's thought was all she needed before she shrugged and shucked off her robes and tossed them into the nearby hamper like normal.

"You really don't have any shame, do you?" demanded the blonde with a flat look.

Tilting her head, Jen smiled back. "We're all girls here, Luna. I have nothing you've never seen before. Doubly true since both of you have already seen me naked, and you yourself have done a lot more than _look_."

"Not the point," she growled. Her eyes were not on Jen, though, but Tracey, who in turn had her hand inching towards her wand. " _Why_ has she seen you naked?"

What the…? No. That could not be it. Was Luna _jealous_? _After_ they had broken up? When had the world gone crazy, and why hadn't anyone seen fit to notify her? "I needed her help with a spell that required me to be submerged in a tub of water, and I was not going to try that with my clothes on. I didn't tell you about it before now because I try not to advertise when I work dark magic, and you don't need to know everything I do."

"And some days I wish you told me less," her ex-girlfriend said cryptically.

The blonde moved away to straighten out her own belongings, and Tracey sidled closer with a tight smile and whispered, "I thought you were trying to _keep_ me from being murdered in my sleep?"

"You'll be fine." A surreptitious flick of a finger, and a charm was set on Tracey's bed that would instantly wake the girl should anyone get within five feet of it with ill intent. A second's thought, and she cast the spell again, though this time set to wake herself as well. "You worry too much."

* * *

Thankfully for Jen's sanity, classes started the next morning, and Luna had mostly recovered from whatever strange mood had come over her the night before, though the blonde still shot her an occasional indecipherable glance. As seventh-years all had the first period free, she swiftly took her leave of her friends and instead locked herself in the spare classroom she had converted into her ad hoc laboratory the previous couple of years, once again planning to turn it to a far more productive purpose. But this time, she held nothing back.

Desks were broken and the small pieces of metal she could find were reformed into locks that she bound to the door in addition to her runic locks. Privacy would be paramount with what she had planned. That accomplished, she cleared away the detritus and cleaned the floor with a few waves of her hands before reshaping the stones into a single smooth plane. Chalkboards were repositioned and some preliminary equations scratched out on their slate surfaces. Hieroglyphics were carved all over the walls, the best attempt she could make at keeping any wards meant to detect lethal or dark magic from sniffing her out. A few useful bits and bobs went into a cabinet, circles and veves and symbols of many origins swimming in her head.

A light laugh escaped her without warning, and it was followed by another. The Unspeakables wanted her? Wanted her skills and her knowledge of dark magic? She stretched her arms out in front of her and cracked her knuckles. Very well. She would show them a Mistress of the Dark Arts.

Only an hour passed before she sighed and left her refuge, locking the door behind her. It was time she return to the hustle and bustle of classes and pretending to ignore what was going on around them all.

"Welcome back," McGonagall told them after the returning seventh-years had all found seats in her classroom. "You have reached your final year of Transfiguration. In the time spent in this class, you have given life to the immobile, stilled the animate, and transformed living beings into other creatures entirely. You all have the talent to go far in life with your knowledge of this field of magic. However, talent is of little use without skill. In only a few months, you will leave these hallowed halls and take your places as adult witches and wizards, and from that moment on you will be responsible for your own actions and your own mistakes. It is my duty to ensure you are ready for that responsibility. Many of my former students have told me that it is this year that was their favorite in my class," she added with a hint of smile, "and it is for this reason. Like all skills, proficiency comes from practice, and so much of this year you will be allowed to practice what spells you desire.

"That is not to say this will be entirely a time for play. We will also discuss in more depth the pinnacle of transfiguration, the act of transforming ourselves. It is the most impressive and most dangerous aspect of this art, and not one for the faint of heart, but by the spring term, I intend to have all of you at the level where you may, if you so desire, begin the process of becoming Animagi."

The other students chattered excitedly at that, and Jen had to roll her eyes at Morag's wide smile.

"And as the first step towards that…" McGonagall waved her wand and floated a number of matchsticks to each teenager. "We will return to the basics. I am sure all of you remember last year and learning how to cast nonverbally? This year, we will work on something similar: point-casting, or the working of magic without wand motions."

Weasley dropped his head onto his desk. "We can't wave our wands now, either?"

"It is that attitude that will prevent you from reaching your full potential as a wizard, Mr. Weasley," the older witch snapped. "But to answer the question I presume you meant to ask, no, I do not expect you to start casting all the spells you know with neither word nor gesture. Point-casting is more difficult than silent casting, and there are very few people who need neither. Many, I would even go so far as to say most, can do little without both." She sniffed. "But just because it is difficult does not mean you should not try. Exactly the opposite. In addition, the ability to cast magic when you can neither speak nor move as you are used to is an essential skill when transforming yourselves. If you cannot manage at least both on their own, becoming an Animagus will likely be beyond your reach, and I will not work with you or anyone else on the subject unless you can prove that attempting it will not endanger you."

That restriction put a damper on everyone's spirits, and reluctantly they turned their minds to turning a matchstick into a needle.

Jen eyed her own match warily. This could be quite difficult depending on how she went about it. The previous year, she had had no issues whatsoever with silent casting for the simple reason that she needed no words to impose her will onto the world. Nor did she need wand motions as the rest of magical Britain understood them. A wave of her hand, a flick of a finger; these were sufficient for her. From that perspective, this challenge was yet another obstacle that could be bypassed with little effort. All she would need to do was use her left hand, the hand not occupied by her prop wand, to manifest her powers. No one watching her would know the difference.

But that was if she chose to take the easy road and master this in seeming only. She thought back to her few minutes in Callahan's basement, tied to the delusional wizard's chair while he prepared to marry and molest and murder her. That confrontation she had turned to her advantage, but he had tied her up, not left her petrified on a table. Her innate resistance against others' magic was minimal without a core of her own to draw from; channeling the world's powers made her all offense and no defense. If someone with a little more brains than her old stalker got the jump on her, being able to cast spells without the ability to move could be the one thing between life and death.

She was not _that_ eager to dwell within her dark master's domain for all eternity.

Sighing inwardly, she turned her attentions to the matchstick and clenched her hands around her prop and her knee. If last year was any indication, this would be a requirement for Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, too. She would work on it honestly until others started figuring it out, then she would cheat and practice only in private. And if she ultimately failed? Then she would just have to figure out something else with which to protect herself.

* * *

**I** _**am** _ **getting old. While writing this chapter, it hit me that it's only a few months until this series reaches its fifth birthday.**

**And in case you were wondering, Luna's not in a great head space right now for reasons that should become clear later. Probably. But I wouldn't recommend betting money on it, just in case.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	9. Questionable Loyalties

**Secundum:** Jen was starting on a couple of new projects, one of which you'll see quite soon.

 **bissek:** Well, Jen got off the train and watched the Death Eaters derail it and blow it up. That's what happened to the Express. The other Hogwarts students got to school via the castle's new and dedicated Floo network.

 **Simianpower:** McGonagall's goal is to get all her students to the point they _could_ become Animagi. A lot decide they don't want to. They don't like what their form would be, or they don't have the time to dedicate to it with first their NEWTs and then working for a living, or they aren't good enough with point casting to turn back to normal on their own. Remember how she said few witches and wizards can do much with neither words nor movements? That's sort of an essential skill when you have turned yourself into an animal and can't talk or move like you normally do.

**To answer a question I've gotten a few times the last couple of weeks, no, this story is not dead or on hiatus. I'm just working 75 to 80 hours** _**every week** _ **, and as you might expect, that makes writing a little difficult.**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

**Questionable Loyalties**

"If you haven't finished by now, you won't. Bottle your samples and bring them here."

Whatever had put Snape in such a mood when Jen talked to him at the feast had thankfully been sorted out by the time for the seventh-years' class on Tuesday morning. He was just his normal curmudgeonly self, and that such a thing was comforting was a sad thought all on its own. Surveying the class down his hooked nose, Snape's scowl lightened just the slightest bit like it normally did any time he was with his NEWT-level class. "As I hope at least one of you would remember from last year, I am looking for a few able-minded students to assist me with my first and second-year classes. By 'assist', of course, I mean keep the idiotic children from killing each other until they have barely enough restraint that I can actually attempt to teach them the delicate art of potion-brewing without all my lessons leaking out their ears between one class and the next. As recompense for your time, I will permit you to assist me with some of my experiments, and any papers published as a result will have your name on it. Any of you who have an overabundance of patience or perhaps just a fondness for children or, worse, the idea that you might wish to teach one day, let me know by the end of the week. I wish to settle this as quickly as I can, so if you dither, you will likely find that the spot is filled."

Susan raised her hand, a tiny frown on her face. "Professor, you're still doing research? I thought that with the war going on, you would be brewing potions for the Ministry or, at the very least, for the infirmary."

"If the Ministry wishes me to brew potions for them, Miss Bones, they will come to me and offer to pay me what my time is worth. I do not engage in charity. Now, out. Miss Black," he added when everyone was halfway through packing up, "stay behind."

A faint smile found its way to Jen's face. Why would it not? The last time he wanted her to stay behind for a private chat, she found herself working out the puzzle of how to remove a Dark Mark. Hopefully whatever challenge he had for her this time was just as stimulating.

"I assume, based on the way you have taught the youngest Ravenclaws and Slytherins to look up at you in awe, that you intend to volunteer for the position?" he asked instead.

Sighing, she nodded. It might not be the challenge she expected, but she consoled herself with the fact that she already had plenty of obstacles to deal with already. The last thing she needed was to overburden herself, even if said burden would not be a straining one. "I had seriously considered it. One must never overlook the opportunity and duty of shaping young minds."

"Impressionable and fragile minds, you mean," he drawled. "That is not a surprise. However…" He shrugged and waved his wand to send the various labeled vials on his desk to his office and shut the door behind them. "You would be a bit of a special case. If you wanted, I would allow you to help me with my experiments as the other assistants would."

"I sense a 'but' coming."

He nodded, and a smile lit her face. What could be behind curtain number two, she wondered. " _But_ that is not the only thing I could do to compensate you for your time. Despite my love of potions, I have other talents as well, and one of them is that I am a fair hand at Arithmancy and spell-crafting. As you might be able to guess, I had some problems as a teenager, and when one combines an aggressive outlook, a talent for making new spells, and four potential victims who deserved everything I could throw at them…"

"Why, professor," she purred, "are you implying that you spent your teenage years creating new dark magics?"

Wrapping his robes about him, he let just a tiny smirk show. "Anyone with a hint of sense would deny ever doing something like that. That said, if I were guilty of doing so and found someone who had an interest in such spells and whom I could trust not to do something foolish with them, I might be convinced to part with some of that knowledge."

 _It's unfortunate that I've never been good at rejecting temptation_. Pursing her lips, she cast her mind around for something that would not make her eagerness so obvious. Ah, that would do it. "You should be careful to whom you make such an offer. Somebody might accuse you of being wrapped around her finger and that you will inevitably bend to her whims."

"Ah."

Snape was no longer looking at her, instead busying himself by puttering around with the sheets of parchment scattered around his desk. Was he _embarrassed_? No, the stormy scowl on his face proved that was not the case. "Are you going to explain what put you in such a mood that night? Even Flitwick thought it odd."

"It was an annoyance. Nothing more." Jen tilted her head and watched him for a minute, and when it became clear she would not let him leave it at that, he sighed and stood straight. "No one saw fit to inform me that Dumbledore had been hired for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post until I ran into him in the hallway. He felt that was a good time to grant me some of his words of wisdom, and I was rather irritable afterwards."

She nodded knowingly. "He does have that effect on people, doesn't he?"

"Quite." The professor flicked a strange look at her before he returned to his sorting. "It will be interesting to watch how he holds himself together, though. This situation must terrify him."

Dumbledore? Terrified? "You're going to have to explain that one."

Snape glanced at the still open door and closed it with a spell. Several more followed, locking it and preventing anyone from eavesdropping. He had not taken such care when offering to teach her dark magic. What could be so important about this? "Few know this, but Dumbledore fears the Dark Lord. Not the man himself," he added at Jen's confused blinking, "for while I believe the Dark Lord is the stronger of the two in terms of raw power, Dumbledore is more experienced and still wily and conniving in his own way. Nor does he fear the Death Eaters' beliefs. As the Chief Warlock, he dealt with that every session of the Wizengamot. No, Miss Black, he fears the combination, what they represent together: another ideology, one he does not share, taking root behind a powerful and charismatic leader. An ideology that has a chance of overthrowing and supplanting the world he spent so long trying to build and maintain."

"Loss of control," she muttered.

"Exactly." The normally dour man's eyes glittered menacingly. "Dumbledore is like all men; he hates that which he fears. He hates the Dark Arts because he fears their allure. He hates the Dark Lord because he fears a man who has become his equal and opposite. And he hates, _hates_ not being in control.

"He would deny it, of course. He would point to the depravities the Death Eaters committed and their calls for extermination of the Muggleborns as the reasons he stands against them. And yet, he never called for those who bribed their way out of a prison sentence to be tried for their crimes, never made noise about pardons being handed out by a brand-new Minister. Is it because he truly wanted reconciliation after the war was over, or now that they were leaderless did he no longer consider them a threat? I don't know, and I don't think he knows, either."

His smile turned darker. "Dumbledore. Voldemort. Both extremely powerful wizards, the greatest of their generations, and yet both fear above all else the thought of being powerless."

Jen masked her shudder as best she could. What did it say about her that such a fear was her own driving force to gather more and more power? Even her boggart was of her weak and powerless.

A wave of his wand, and the door creaked open again. "Keep that to yourself. Dumbledore holds a special grudge against you as it is. There is no need to enflame it further."

…Why did she feel like he was hinting at something?

* * *

Lunch passed quickly while Jen pondered Snape's secret – or maybe his warning? – and the next hour and a half was spent preparing herself mentally for the coming trial.

Fourth period, the seventh-years' first class with Dumbledore.

Everyone found their seat before the bell rang, and rather than waiting for class to officially start, the old wizard shut the door early. "This class has been a little unusual over the years, wouldn't you say?" he began, an almost embarrassed smile on his face. "Professor Quirrell did his best to provide you the basics, and Lockhart… Let's not talk about Lockhart. Your professors after him, on the other hand, were all rather good in their areas of focus. Professor Lupin taught you how to deter and escape the grip of Dark creatures. Professor Moody, besides stressing the importance of vigilance, pounded into your heads how to fight another wizard. Professor Potter expanded on that, moving away from one-on-one fights to the tactics needed for a group as a whole to triumph. And Professor Williamson showed you how a clever fighter prepares for his opponents and changes the battlefield to suit his own purposes.

"With those lessons in mind, there is much I could teach you, but the question is what _should_ I teach you?" Dumbledore walked over to the window and stared out at the tent city below. When he spoke again, it was softer, and everyone leaned forwards a little to better hear. "If this were a normal year, I might choose any number of subjects. I was originally a professor of Transfiguration, so it might have been how to protect yourselves with everyday transfiguration and charms. I have long held an interest in the neglected and esoteric fields, so I might have chosen to show you the spells of primitive cultures and foreign lands. There is just so _much_ that all of you still have yet to learn, and as much as we as teachers promote continuous learning and self-directed education, the simple fact is that for the vast majority of you, your lives after you graduate will be filled with the normal day-to-day trials that leave little time for expanding your horizons.

"But this? This is not a normal year. The war we now experience did not spring out of nowhere. It has been brewing for the last several decades, even longer, and now that it is out in the open, it will not be bottled up again. I first saw the horrors of war in 1943, when Britain finally became embroiled in the war against Grindelwald. I hoped that I would never have to see it again." Shaking his head, he turned back to look at the class. "Instead, I have now seen three, and in all of them, just has been the case always and forever, it is the young who are slaughtered first. The Ministry has made no secret that it needs volunteers to join the fight against the Death Eaters. Many of you, I'm sure, have decided or are still considering joining them. And for those of you who are not, war has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it. You might be able to avoid fighting this time, but when another occurs? It may well be in your lifetimes, and you might not have the option to stay neatly out of the way.

"For this reason, I will not waste our time together teaching you new, complicated spells and filling your heads with meaningless minutiae that I know you will regurgitate on a test and promptly forget. This is not a year for such a thing. Instead, I will build on what you have already learned." Dumbledore drew his wand and conjured four clusters of golden bubbles, each filled with a different tiny image. "Combating Dark creatures. Fighting other wizards. Teamwork and tactics. Traps and ensorcellments. You have focused on them individually, but now we will put them together in a coherent whole."

The bubbles coalesced into a single sphere that showed two lines of soldiers clashing in bloody combat.

"We will learn how to survive a war."

A shudder swept through the class, and the spell Dumbledore's speech had laid over them broke. Even Jen had to shake off the effects. Not magic, not in the slightest; just the same oratory skill seen in leaders of men throughout the centuries. That was almost more frightening. If it were magical, she would stand a better chance of noticing herself be drawn in.

"Now," he continued, his voice back to a normal volume, "these are not the sort of lessons that can be learned by me lecturing and you taking notes. You will instead have practical lessons, obstacles courses that will gradually become more and more complicated." He paused for a moment to let everyone chatter excitedly about that, and while Jen was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, she understood the reason why. There was something inherently satisfying about practical Defense lessons, about being able to show off what she could do in front of everyone else. Even if she had to hold back because her preferred style of fighting was too dangerous, too 'dishonorable', or too dark to reveal. "I thought you'd enjoy that. I may be an old man, but I still remember how boring theoretical classes could be. These lessons will also by and large be group efforts. Not all of them, for there may be times when you have only yourself to count on, but the vast majority will require you to work together with others. Your marks will be your team's marks, which should present more than enough incentive to ensure you're prepared." He smiled jovially. "And while I should assign you to groups so you learn to work together with people you normally would not, if you wish to succeed, you need to trust one another. For that reason, I will let you choose your own four-man teams."

He glanced at the clock. "That took less time than I expected. Take a minute to form your teams and discuss your personal strengths and weaknesses. Only by knowing what you contribute to the group will you know where you belong. After that, we will run through an example of the kind of obstacle course you will have to complete, and you may use the time remaining to discuss with your teams how else you might have approached it based on those roles."

Tracey turned and looked at Jen expectantly, but the Black heiress shook her head. _There_ was the catch. "You'd be better off not partnering with me."

"Why?" Morag demanded.

"Don't you remember our fourth and fifth years? Dumbledore has always had it out for me. He's going to give me poor scores in this class just like he did during the Triwizard Tournament, and that will drag down your marks, too. There's no reason for all of us to suffer."

Luna scoffed loudly, but her unimpressed gaze was not fixed on Jen. Her eyes instead narrowed as she watched Dumbledore. "If he wants to give us bad marks, let him. We're taking our NEWTs this year. The scores _he_ thinks we deserve are irrelevant. If we're in this, we're in it together."

Jen's head slowly turned so she could regard Luna with a thoroughly confused expression, one that was mirrored by Tracey and Morag as they too stared at the blonde. Was the younger Raven going to decide whether they were friends or not soon, or would she just flip-flop the entire year? Luna blushed at the sudden attention, but a moment later she tilted her head tauntingly.

"…Okay then," Jen finally said. "I guess we have our group of four."

A few minutes later, they had settled little about their actual positions in the team except that Jen was definitely the point of the spear, but further discussion was cut off when Dumbledore set a model on the desk and enlarged it so they could see a winding path cut into the block of wood. Conjuring a model of himself and having it bow to the class, he set it so they could see it as it started up the route. "For this first discussion, we will stop at each obstacle and discuss the different options we have available to combat each threat…"

* * *

"What is so amusing?"

"Oh, just some comments a few of my NEWT-level students made about your teaching style," Minerva said with a sly smile. "The idea of an almost purely practical class certainly hit the mark."

Albus smiled back and carefully kept any cat-related jokes or metaphors about her amusement to himself. And there were so very, very many of them that he could think of, as was to be expected after their fifty-year relationship. "I can but try. It has been a long time since I last taught a class, and especially since I taught a class that has been so heavily scarred by the fighting around them."

The Animagus's humor faded, and a more serious expression took its place. "I do not like the necessity, I'll admit, but I understand that there is little else that can be done. So many of our seventh-years have already volunteered to assist the Ministry. If we cannot stop them, then the least we can do is prepare them as best we are able." She glanced away for a moment before looking square at him. "I would ask why you have not tried to convince them to join the Order instead, but I suspect I know the answer. Most of us would balk at sending children into battle, even knowing that if they didn't join us they will join the Ministry. Molly would in particular, and I am sure that would be enough to jolt Lily from her fugue as well."

"That is one reason," he admitted, and a very good reason it was. After Alastor's betrayal – semi-betrayal, perhaps? His old friend had his heart in the right place, even if his methods were questionable – Albus was leery of doing anything that might cause more fractures amongst its members. Now was the time for the Order to come together, to renew their pledge to fight back the Darkness that threatened to overtake their world.

Unfortunately, the kidnapping that had befallen young Danny had been the tipping point. Before his disappearance, the Order had had their internal tensions but otherwise held together. Why would they not? He had not revealed the details of the prophecy, but he had nonetheless made sure they knew that Danny was the secret to winning this war. They only had to wait until he was old enough to shoulder his burden.

But now? No. Now that glue was flaking apart, and the edges that had previously been cemented together were grinding against each other.

"The other reason," he continued with a sigh, "is that I already know what will happen if I tried it and was found out. Amelia has Griselda's ear, and there are days I worry that the only reason she has not lashed out at us is that she knows she needs all the allies she can find. That does not mean she would permit what she sees as an usurpation of her Ministerial authority. Should I try recruiting students for the Order, she could well convince Griselda that I am too much a threat to keep here, as well as anyone else she knew is on our side. You and I? We would be cast out, and then there would be no other option for the students to look towards than the Ministry."

He sighed. "Not that the Ministry, in and of itself, is a thing to be feared or toppled. Whether it can be trusted depends on who leads it. Cornelius, whatever his good traits, had a cowardly heart, and that meant his administration moved slowly. Changes took time. They could be controlled and directed with effort so as to avoid mistakes. But Amelia? She is aggressive, and she is hard. Given the opportunity to mold the minds of the students, she would strip away their ability to see the world as anything but threat and ally, no matter what kind of people may make up those two groups. It would be inadvertent, but it would happen. I need to be here to buffer her own excesses, and if I wish to remain, I must let some opportunities pass me by."

"Do you really believe it has come to that?" Minerva whispered.

"I do not know for sure, but I can foresee it happening all too easily." With a sigh, he continued, "Perhaps I am being paranoid. I hope I am. Because the alternative means a disconcerting picture indeed—"

A knock resounded throughout his private quarters.

"Were you expecting someone, Albus?" his friend asked. When he shook his head, she wondered aloud, "Then who could that be?"

It was hard to believe that he would be in danger in Hogwarts herself, but unfortunately, he knew he had enemies here. Minerva took a position to the side where she would have a good look and aim at whomever it was should they want him for dastardly purposes, and he opened the door and opened his mouth to greet his visitor. His words fled him for just a moment before he rallied himself. "I must say, I did not expect to find you at my door."

"I'm just as surprised I'm here. Can I come in?"

"Very well." He ushered the young man inside and closed the door. Minerva flicked a glance at him and his guest, no doubt wondering if he had taken leave of his senses. Perhaps he had. "Perhaps you can enlighten me as to why you are here, Mister Malfoy."

Lucius's son nodded imperiously, the boy so much a copy of his late father that it would have been humorous had Lucius not been one of Tom's strongest allies. Despite Albus's best efforts, the younger blond and current Head of House Malfoy shared his father's despicable views regarding Muggleborns and Muggles. "I can indeed. I am here to request asylum."

Minerva just scoffed.

Try as he might, he could not find it in himself to chastise her for it. He, too, found this difficult to believe. Was this exactly what he wished would happen? Absolutely. But there was a world of difference between wanting it to happen and such a thing actually coming to pass. In fact, he would have expected this particularly student to be one of the last of the Death Eaters' progeny to open their eyes and see the light considering his father's status among their ranks and the blood purist circles more generally. "You will have to forgive me, but I need a little more explanation than that."

"It isn't that complicated. I have chosen not to side with the Dark Lord, but I cannot simply back away, not with my father having been his right hand and my aunt his left. He would have me hunted down and killed without a doubt. If I want out, I need someone's protection, and you are my best option."

"How can we trust you?" demanded Minerva. "We both know what you're like, Draco Malfoy. What your father was like. You were overjoyed at the thought of Muggleborns being murdered when you were but twelve years old, and I've seen no evidence that you've changed in the slightest since. You expect us to believe you've changed so much in just a summer?"

"Have I changed my views?" Malfoy asked, his voice soft and his eyes never leaving Albus's. "Not in the way you think. We will probably never see eye-to-eye about Muggles, nor about our traditions. Fine. I am willing to stand amongst those whose views I disagree with, even abhor, if it means I'll live to see the end of this war. I won't if I stay with the Death Eaters."

"You still hold their opinions, yet you claim they wish you dead?" he prompted. Something was off about all this, and for all he wanted to believe the boy might be taking the first steps on the road of redemption, it did not sound like that was the case. "Why would that be the case?"

Malfoy laced his fingers together in front of him. "Because the Dark Lord clearly sees me as disposable. He gave me a task that I cannot, could never, complete, with the warning that if I failed, I would wish he just killed me."

"And that task is…?"

"He ordered me to kill you."

Minerva immediately sprang into action, her wand in her hand in an instant, and Albus sent her a quelling look before she could do anything that could not be taken back. That was not the sort of admission that was normally delivered with one's hands in full view and nowhere near his wand. "I feel obligated to tell you that you have forfeited the element of surprise."

If he expected his comment to smooth things over, it failed horribly. Malfoy instead merely gave him a look as though the young lord were reconsidering the benefits of allying himself with the Light. "Surprise by itself would have helped me little. Unless I could find a spell that would let me defeat you with a single strike, you would crush me in a fight every time. Even If tried to shoot you in the back, there is a good chance you still would have noticed, and then I would be in the same situation. It isn't possible for me to succeed, and the Dark Lord knows it. I don't know why he wants me to fail, but clearly he does."

"This could still be a trick," Minerva warned. "Give us a sob story just like your father told the Wizengamot to stay out of Azkaban after the first war, and then try to worm your way into our confidences."

He nodded, a sigh slipping out. That was unfortunately a very real possibility. "We are willing to offer you asylum, but we need proof that what you say is real and not a clever lie."

The sneering scowl that had started growing on the boy's face was now at full strength, and Albus could not tell if he would soon start screaming or simply stomp out. Malfoy finally mastered his initial reaction and spat, "Proof? That's what you want? Fine."

Trembling hands undid the buttons of his robes, and the garment was tossed to the side. Minerva gasped and slapped her free hand over her mouth. Spinning around on one heel, Malfoy showed Albus his back, or more precisely the myriad of burns and cuts criss-crossing it. "How's that for _proof_?"

"What happened?" Albus asked quietly.

Malfoy picked his robes back up and pulled them on, a faint grimace crossing his face when the motions tugged on one of the healing wounds. "When the Dark Lord told me what he wanted me to do, I pointed out that it wouldn't work. He didn't appreciate that, and what he doesn't appreciate drive Bellatrix crazy. Well, crazier. She decided I needed to be taught why I should always address him with the _'proper respect'_." A shudder ran along the boy's shoulders. "The Dark Lord only stopped her once I agreed to go through with it. _That's_ why I need you to protect me. If I go back and you're still alive, the rest of my life will be something out of my worst nightmares."

And there were children like him who thought joining the Death Eaters was a worthy aspiration? Albus had a choice to make, but it was not a particularly difficult one. This was a seventeen-year-old boy who had been tortured just because he would not kill. True, the reasons young Draco gave for why he had said no were far less benevolent than one might hope, but there were a number of ways Albus could think of off the top of his head for how someone who could not hope to challenge him directly might still gain the upper hand. Poison, cursed objects, a particularly subtle Imperius Curse. Those were even more dangerous than a straightforward attack, for those were weapons the Elder Wand was incapable of defending against.

The young man had said no, but it sounded like he had said no immediately and then thought up reasons why he could not accomplish his task, not that he spent time pondering the different methods available and only after examining them all decided it was an insurmountable obstacle. And, knowing Severus as he did, he knew that Slytherins as a whole would save face by any means necessary. Admitting that he did not have the stomach to murder people was something Malfoy, growing up as he had, might think would be seen as weakness rather than the virtue it truly was.

"There is much you could ask for, and of that, little I have the authority to grant," Albus told the fresh-faced lordling, "but this I still can give you. You will be safe so long as you stay within Hogwarts's grounds or a location claimed by the Order of the Phoenix. Of that you have my word."

* * *

**Thinking back on my stories, not just this one but all of them, I realized that I've done Dumbledore a major disservice. Not by portraying him as a callous, manipulative, arrogant old fart – because after reading book 7 and looking back with open eyes at everything he did in the previous books, I cannot comprehend how anyone can view him as a good person – but instead by** _**not** _ **portraying him as the charismatic leader he is stated to be. His speech here is my attempt to rectify that.**

**You guys will be ready to tear me apart by the time I finally explain what's going on with Luna, aren't you?**

**Silently Watches out.**


	10. Nature or Nurture?

**Belial666:** The difference in Dumbledore's attitude between Snape in 1981 and Malfoy now is that Malfoy hasn't done anything (to his knowledge). He talked the talk but balked at walking the walk.

 **Big Fan:** Oh, I'm sure there is still more black magic in store. :-) Nyarlathotep's "rival" is Tiferet, who gives time manipulation rituals.

* * *

**Chapter 10  
** **Nature or Nurture?**

"Thank you, Emmeline, for that… enlightening report," Dumbledore slowly said, his face showing his displeasure at the news the Order had just been provided.

Narcissa was not sure herself whether to smirk or grimace. On the one hand, it was always a nice day when the old goat looked like someone had killed his pet songbird, and even more when he had to bend rather than let everything coming at him just pass him by. Even his audience was proof that he had officially lost control of the situation. She turned her head slightly to look at Sirius, and past him to Moody and the 'Second Order' they had all found out about only after Dumbledore had already made enemies out of his former allies. On this side of the table, everyone bore stern glares. Nearly a third of his former followers sat here now only because they hated the Dark Lord more than him right now. For all the Light-sided fool thought he was a peacemaker and diplomat, he had a remarkable talent for driving away the very people he needed, and watching the Order implode over the last year, and particularly over the last few months, had been entertainment of the highest order.

On the other…

She held back her sigh. The Order and the Light, in its incessant attempts to dismantle their society and reshape into something approaching the dull world of the Muggles, had forgotten or ignored one major flaw: there just were not that many Muggleborns. The vast majority of magical society was composed of Purebloods of one stripe or another. Exceedingly few of them were nobility like the House of Black, but regardless, generations of marrying into Wizarding families had diluted the Muggle taint that those born in that world brought with them. So long as the Death Eaters started with a reasonably liberal definition of 'pure' – no Muggle stock within three or four generations, perhaps – the public would not panic overmuch because it was such a small proportion of the population who would be affected.

And that was exactly what was happening. Everyone had been on edge that first week or two after the Dark Lord claimed the Ministry building, but tensions had eased once the reorganization of the government was completed. The fighting between the Ministry and the Death Eaters had been terrifying, but now that the Death Eaters were in control, the world was back to business as usual for the average witch on the street.

Dumbledore wondered why the Order was having even more trouble than normal finding new recruits? That was why. Few people wanted the fighting to resume. Between their principles and their security, they would choose security without a second thought.

Shaking off his lack of enthusiasm, Dumbledore pasted a genial smile on his face and stood before walking over to the large map plastered on the wall of the Longbottom's second study. "Hopefully, my own announcement can dispel some of this gloom. We now know the locations of three of Voldemort's training camps."

The room burst into noise at that announcement, and it was Moody's wand making a sound like a cannon blast that finally restored something like order to the proceedings. "Where did you get this information?" the scarred old Auror growled.

"The child of a late Death Eater decided he could no longer condone their actions and came to me for protection," was Dumbledore's reply. "The evidence he had to support his claims was most convincing."

"I saw his proof as well," chimed in McGonagall. "It was… quite convincing, yes."

Moody's electric blue eye spun dizzyingly. "An' that's all well and good, but I still want a name."

The former headmaster turned to look straight at Narcissa. "Strangely enough, it was none other than young Draco Malfoy."

The piebald witch ignored the protestations and noise of the Order, her thoughts instead turning inwards. Draco went to Dumbledore for help? _Her_ Draco? That was hard enough to imagine under any circumstances, but she was supposed to believe he had abandoned the Death Eaters' cause, as well? She and Lucius had both raised him to know where Muggles stood in comparison to witches and wizards, and while a turnabout in his position was not impossible – one only had to look at Andi to know that – she knew her son. He had always had an aggressive and violent position more in line with Lucius's views than her own. The Death Eaters would offer him the exact kind of outlet for his hatred that he wanted.

What in Merlin's name could have happened to make him change his beliefs so thoroughly? Nothing came to mind, and that was more worrying than anything else. Draco was always a little too blatant with his ploys when he was younger, but if he had developed some actual cunning? Dumbledore was a politician, yes, but he had never abandoned his Gryffindor roots. It would not take much to pull the wool over his eyes, doubly so if Draco offered the story Dumbledore wanted to hear.

Sirius turned to her with a small smile. "This is good news. Maybe he's open for reconciliation—"

"Don't be a fool." His jaw clacked shut, and he watched her with sad grey eyes. His pity irritated her, but she forced it back and locked it inside a mental box. She could rail and rage at him for prodding the wound left behind when Draco decided to cut her out of his life, but that was for later when they were not surrounded by so many allies of pure convenience.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Dumbledore cut in before she could say anything else to the Blacks' lord, "perhaps you could be our point of contact? I can only imagine how hard it must have been to side with us while your husband and son belonged to our enemy, but you have the chance to rebuild that bridge now that he too has chosen to act on his morals."

A humorless smile crossed her face. "If you truly believe what you just said, you are a greater fool than I ever imagined. And that, Dumbledore, would truly be an accomplishment."

"Are you saying you felt nothing abandoning your family?"

"I am saying Draco has far too much of Lucius in him to abandon the Dark. Trust him at your own peril."

"Did you really just say that?" Everyone reacted to that croaking voice, and Narcissa raised an eyebrow at Lily Potter. It had been a surprise that the redhead had come at all, and until now she might as well have been a zombie for all the attention she paid to the discussions and information presented. Was this what it took to break her out of her fugue? "You don't even believe your own son? You're his _mother_."

Ah. Now she saw the issue. Leaning back in her chair, she replied in a dismissive voice, "I believe my son will act in accordance with his nature. Abandoning the Death Eaters? Trusting Dumbledore? These are not."

The Lady Potter's previously blank expression filled with fury, the emotion mirrored to a lesser extent by the rest of the Order. Personally, Narcissa cared not a whit. Lily Potter's motivations were obvious; having lost her own son, she was projecting her regrets and desires on Narcissa's relationship with Draco rather than viewing it with a rational eye or even listening to the one person at this table who knew Draco best. Continuing to argue the point would do little good, and ironically it might actually make things worse. They would support one of their own good little Lions rather than the traitorous serpent in their midst, possibly – probably – to the point of trying to set Draco up with a 'proper' maternal figure and thereby make it easier for him to accomplish whatever design he had in mind. They might even be so callous as to try setting him up with Lily, which… Well, there were easier and less painful ways to kill someone than that. If they wanted to fall on that sword, though, that was their decision. She would not stop them.

Once again, she sent a silently prayer of thanks to the Unseelie Queen that the Light threw Jen away like so much rubbish all those years ago. The thought of her clever, cunning niece growing up to be nothing more than a miniature Lily was nauseating.

And speaking of Jen, she had better send the girl a warning so she could avoid stepping in whatever plot was brewing here.

* * *

Jen fingered the letter sitting in her lap, her thoughts centered on Cissy's words rather than the breakfast before her. Dumbledore was going to trust Malfoy? _Malfoy_? Had he lost what was left of his feeble mind? And, _and_ , to rub salt in the wound, this was in addition to his extreme distrust for her personally. Now that alone she could not blame him for; knowing herself as well as she did, even she would not trust herself unless she knew their goals were aligned, nor would she trust other black mages unless, as was the case with Priest and Menagerie, they were working together for some purpose they could not accomplish individually. Dumbledore did not know that she was a black witch, however, even though he knew Draco Malfoy was a dedicated blood purist. Yet still he would trust Malfoy over her?

It was flat out insulting.

The former headmaster rose from the staff table to make his way to his classroom before the first period of the day, and she watched him as a plan started to form in her mind. It was probably not the wisest course of action she could take, but this was honestly beyond the pale. Furthermore, she had questions for him, questions only he had the answer to. It would not be too dangerous to confront him, thankfully, not with Friday's first Defense class scheduled for the seventh-years. If she left now, she would have a few minutes to confront him privately, and things would not get too heated with the impending arrival of the rest of the class. There were enough Gryffindors that she would not want to be caught fighting, and there were enough disillusioned students in general that Dumbledore could not assume his own actions would be dismissed. The worst that would happen is that he would hate her even more than he already did.

She gulped down the last of her morning tea and grabbed her bag, which did not go unnoticed. "Just heading to class early," she said in response to Padma's questioning glance.

"That's Defense Against the Dark Arts," Luna reminded her with suspicious eyes. "Why would you want to go there early? You hate Dumbledore."

It was times like this that hammered home how dating Luna on a long-term basis would be both intellectually stimulating and incredibly inconvenient for anyone with deep dark secrets. She shook her head. "You are absolutely right. That said, I have questions for him, and these aren't the kinds of questions he'll answer with anyone else around. It should only take a few minutes," she continued when the blonde still did not appear convinced, "not long enough for me to cause any trouble."

"Jen, you can cause trouble as soon as walk through the door when you really want to," Tracey pointed out. Nods from the other Ravenclaws signaled their agreement with this sentiment. "But fine. We'll give you a few minutes alone, but we're coming in not long after. Yell if you need help."

Their concern was unnecessary but touching nonetheless, and she picked up her bag with a faint smile. That smile sharpened when she remembered that barring the Slytherin in their midst, only a few short years ago none of them would have thought anyone would ever be in the right to confront Dumbledore about anything. It was amazing how far and how quickly his star had fallen.

Dumbledore had his back turned to her when she entered the classroom, but her surprise entrance was spoiled by the mirror she could feel in front of him. "Miss Black, I did not expect you to be the first student here. And particularly not without your retinue behind you."

"I had a few things I wanted to talk to you about," she said, slowly closing the door. "Things I doubt either of us want to become public knowledge."

He nodded and turned to face her, all fake congeniality gone. "That is one of the downsides of lying to everyone around you, isn't it? There is always something you don't want getting out to the wrong people."

"Well, you would know that far better than I do," Jen shot back, ignoring the obvious barb in his taunt. "After all, you have far more experience with doing so."

"I don't know about that. You've gotten a great deal of practice these last few years."

"And yet, even in that, you are my superior." He glanced at her in suspicion, knowing that 'praise' was about to grow teeth. Jen let him stew for just a moment while she walked to her desk and set down her satchel. "After all, I am not the one who made a pair of parents believe for for thirteen years that their darling daughter was a sad little Squib."

"Are we acknowledging that you are the Potter's daughter today?" he asked in a voice of forced confusion. "I'm sorry, but I never can keep straight which lie you wish to live on a day to day basis. Your memory for deception is truly laudable."

She bared her teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "Oh, Dumbledore. I have never once denied that a girl was born to James and Lily Potter. I only deny that I am her. That isn't even a lie when you think about it, either." Did she dare say what was running through her head right now? Did such a question even need to be asked? "For you see, like a phoenix little Jenny Potter died, and I was reborn from her ashes."

He did not sneer at that comparison of herself to the fragments of Enoch, but it was a near thing.

"Not that I don't love our little chats, but I do have something I want to ask you about, and we have conveniently hit upon it already. You told the Potters their daughter was a Squib despite Sirius seeing me perform accidental magic, and lo and behold, in my studies with my tutor we discovered bindings and locks upon my magic. These are not simple things, either. They would have taken time and effort to put in place." She leaned forwards, bracing herself on the desk before her. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Don't play dumb, Dumbledore. Why did you try to cripple my magic?"

"You stand there, having done the things you have, and yet you still need to ask that question? You are Dark, and you are dangerous. I did what had to be done to protect us all from you."

Having done the things she had done? What did he know about her crimes— Ah. He knew nothing, did he? He was bluffing, pretending to know more than he did so she would let her memory fill in the gaps. "How small and weak a man you really must be if you felt threatened by a one-year-old still in her nappies."

He shook his head. "It was not what you were then. It was what you were bound to grow up to be. Voldemort was not gone, I knew this. We did not need our fight with him to be made more difficult by trying to keep you under control, too."

Jen blinked a few times in confusion. What she was bound to grow up to be. Destined, to use another word. Was he a party to that prophecy the Unspeakables had kept? " _'A child, marked by the Dark Lord himself, will be raised in light'_." He visibly twitched in surprise. That answered that question. Thinking back carefully, she continued, " _'The other, knowing only hate and cruelty, will fall into darkness'_. Is that what you're referring to?"

"Where did you hear that?!" he demanded.

"I especially love how you twisted that to justify your actions. People who hated magic, given a magical child? From my perspective, I am what you made me." Hatred seethed on his face, and she could not resist the urge to twist the knife. Spreading her arms wide, she taunted, "Come now, Dumbledore, don't look so mad. Take a little pride in your creation.

"But while we are talking about _'Dark and dangerous'_ individuals, let's chat a little about Malfoy. You see fit to trust him? You had only suspicions about _my_ evil, but his you are willing to dismiss out of hand?" She shook her head. "I just don't understand you sometimes."

"He has a choice."

"Exactly my point," she said. "And he chose to be a little shit—"

"That is not what I mean. The Death Eaters chose to be evil," he explained, taking a lecturing tone almost out of habit. "They can just as easily choose to reject that path and return to the Light. Even Voldemort chose to become what he is. But you? You were born with darkness in your soul. You never chose to be what you are, and so you cannot choose to be any different.

"Once, I thought you could. I thought that the love of your family might be enough to awaken some small, neglected seed of gentleness in you. But I saw your callousness, heard about your apathy over the fate of your own brother, and I know that it was just an old fool's hope." He gazed upon her with an expression that was almost sad. "In a way, I pity you, that your choices were made for you by fate and left you with no say in them. But pity will do neither of us any good now."

Jen stared at him, any words on her tongue turned to ash. Did… Did this stupid, demented old man really believe the words spewing out of his mouth? He thought the Death Eaters, even Voldemort himself, would one day just wake up and decide they had been the villains after all and start building orphanages and petting stray puppies? And this was someone the Light Powers were interested in? No wonder the Darkness was winning!

And yet, something wasn't adding up. Following his logic, he thought she would become a powerful Dark Lady potential if she was raised by the Potters. He honestly thought with the entire Order watching her grow up that she would have the freedom to move around and assemble an army? She would have been under surveillance her entire life, and without being abandoned by the Dursleys and instead being raised a Potter – she squashed down the mental shudder at that possibility – she never would have met Elsie or dedicated herself to the Baron. She would, without a doubt, be _less_ dangerous, not more. It was a poor rationale, almost like it was actually a rationalization—

' _Dumbledore is like all men; he hates that which he fears.'_

' _The contest between them will shape our world.'_

' _He hates the Dark Lord because he fears a man who has become his equal and opposite.'_

' _Should the Dark Lord not fall at the One's hand, his reign will be forevermore.'_

' _And he hates,_ _ **hates**_ _not being in control.'_

Jen tried to hide her smirk and failed miserably. That smirk widened into a smile. The smile became a snicker. And then she threw back her head and _cackled_.

"Oh, Dumbledore, the truth must burn like _fire_ ," she said once her laughter was once more under some semblance of control. A finger wiped tears of mirth out of her eyes. "You were afraid. You were afraid that this tiny little girl would become someone powerful, a witch of worth and a leader of Darkness. You were so afraid that you lied to two of your most devoted followers and convinced them she had no magic. You spent what must have been hours crafting those bindings you placed upon me. You threw me away in the hopes that Jenny Potter would remain powerless and forgotten.

"Then I returned. I was dark. I was dangerous. I was everything you spent decades trying to stamp out. And I was powerful. _I_ escaped Voldemort's clutches. _I_ fought him to a draw at the tender age of fifteen. You were afraid I was the One the prophecy spoke of, and that fear turned to hatred. You couldn't have me beat him, for I am not under your control and represent everything you ever stood against.

"And now?" she crowed. "Oh, now. Daniel Potter, great warrior for the Light, is missing. Captured by the Death Eaters. Dead if he's lucky, wishing for death if he's not. Only two people were ever able to defeat Voldemort, and you've lost the one you pinned all your hopes on. All you have left is me. Unless you _want_ Voldemort to win, you have to hope everything you once and still fear becomes reality."

Jen clapped her hands once, twice, thrice; the sound echoed in the silent room. "Bravo."

The door opened as though commanded by her words, and Luna poked her head in, followed by Susan, Morag, and Tracey. True to their words, they had given her only her few minutes and now were here to make sure things did not go overboard. Their timing was so impeccable Jen was halfway tempted to kiss them all.

Rage glittered in Dumbledore's eyes, and she met his glare with a brilliant smile. He could hate her all he wanted, for his fury was utterly impotent. He could not attack her, not so long as their mutual enemy still breathed. After Voldemort was dead, then he could make moves against her, try to bend her to his will or dispose of her once she was no longer useful to him, but so much could happen between now and then. And he would have to move quickly, too, before her grip was firm around her new prestige and the political power that came with it. Already she imagined she could see him plotting how to stab her in the back in her moment of victory.

Too bad for him that she was not alone. She had her allies. She had her family. And most importantly of all, she had the favor of Death himself.

 _You want to play games with me?_ , she challenged him with only a look. _Bring it on_.

* * *

**Short one today, but it's been so long since I updated that I wanted to give you something. That is doubly true since chapters 11 and 12 may be** _**significantly** _ **delayed.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	11. Broken Pieces

**Dan:** Why hasn't Jen moved against Dumbledore's supporters? Reason 1 is because the vast majority of them really aren't a threat to her. Magically, she can take on anyone bar the Aurors without fear. Politically, only the Longbottoms and the Potters are nobility. In regards to the truth about her… Well, she has the Ministry's records to back her up if they can ever take the Ministry back. Reason 2 is that they're in the middle of a war, and she not want to waste cannon fodder before it throws itself at her enemies. She might engineer some "accidents" on the battlefield, but that requires her to be in the same place at the same time.

 **Alex Aces:** Jen _did_ perform the ritual with Ginny's ovaries, actually. It just hadn't happened yet when the zombies attacked.

**More art this week, this one commissioned by Guest-000 and created by rin-an over on Tumblr. Thanks, guys!**

* * *

**Chapter 11  
** **Broken Pieces**

Looking down one unfamiliar hallway and then another, Wendell Granger sighed. It was time to admit it. He was well and truly lost.

In hindsight, wandering around Hogwarts Castle in the middle of the night was probably not his brightest idea, but it was an old habit that was easy to fall back into. He had always had trouble sleeping when something was bothering him, and most nights a walk around the house or even in the neighborhood cleared his head. Sometimes it let him put his finger on what was wrong. Other times he already knew the problem but did not have a solution for it.

This was definitely a night for the former.

He loved Monica and Hermione, truly he did, but sometimes mother and daughter were far too similar for his peace of mind. Both of them were used to being the smartest person in the room, and both of them were used to being right. That meant arguments between them, particularly over the last few summers, had made things tense at home. As soon as Hermione told them the truth about what she and her friends had gotten up to at school, Monica wanted all three of them to leave the country for somewhere a little more politically stable. If they were somewhere else, they could not be caught up in a civil war. Hermione, by contrast, wanted them to run to her school. As she had rather bluntly pointed out, she may not quite be an adult by 'Muggle' standards but she was an adult witch and therefore could do as she willed, her parents' opinions on the matter be damned.

His had been the deciding vote for coming to the castle, and later that night he had explained to Monica his reasoning why. As the Bard famously said, there was something rotten in the state of Denmark. Hermione was still a teenager, so her hating her parents and her parents' decisions was to be expected, but her protests just did not feel right. Her arguments did not sound like they were built off anger or confidence or even self-righteousness. They rang instead of _dismissal_ , like whatever he and Monica said in response was just so much noise to be ignored. Children grew up and became their own people, but the way his daughter had acted was wrong for that alone. So, he had told Monica, they needed to go to Hogwarts. Maybe there they could figure out why Hermione was acting the way she had.

He sighed and picked a hallway to walk down. Dwelling on her nearly inexplicable behavior was a good way to work himself into a temper, and getting angry would not help him figure out the way back to his quarters. Which, considering it was nearly one in the morning when he left the guest wing and he had been wandering the corridors for a couple of hours, he really needed to do.

The route he had chosen was, it turned out, not the way to his room. Instead it ended on a balcony that overlooked the school's lake, the light from the full moon giving the still waters a glassy sheen. He sighed as he looked out over the grounds. Much as he disliked some of the people he had to deal with in this place, he had to admit that it was a beautiful location. Were it not for the war currently raging, he could not blame Hermione for being unwilling to leave.

Before he could get too caught up in the scenery, a few sounds drifted into his ear. A closer listen identified them: someone nearby was singing. What they were saying he had not a clue, but it sounded almost like French. There were ghosts here, he had seen them himself, so maybe a ghostly woman singing in the night in Old or Middle French, languages old enough that his modern ear would not understand them? Stranger things were possible, he supposed.

He had a rough estimate of where the voice was coming from, so he only had to open a few doors before finding the music's source. It was not a friendly ghost who might guide him back to their wing waiting for him, though. Sitting in the middle of the room was a young woman dressed only in loose white pants with a white wrap around her chest, curly black hair pulled up in a ponytail. The woman was centered in a puddle of light in the otherwise dark room, and it took him a moment to realize it was from the seven mirrors bouncing moonlight back and forth between them, a larger eighth mirror bringing the light in from outside so there was a clear boundary rather than everything being washed out. She had stopped her singing, and he raised his hand to knock on the open door—

"I know you're there. You might as well come in."

Well, okay. "Sorry about that," he said weakly as he closed the door behind him. How had she known he was there when she had her back to him? One of the mirrors in front of her, maybe? "I didn't mean to interrupt you." She said nothing to that, and he wracked his brain for something else to say. "You have a lovely voice."

"…Thank you," she said, tone slightly surprised.

A girl of few words? Or maybe she was just occupied with something he could not see from here. Moving slowly so he did not startle her, he was about to walk around her when she spoke again. "Other side. If you block the mirrors, I'll have to start all over again. I don't have the materials to do that."

Wendell changed directions and went around the other side of her, keeping an eye on the small bowl floating above a candle that smelled like it held perfume of some kind to make sure he did not knock it over. The fragments of wood on the floor nearby, on the other hand, did not appear to be quite as important. The young woman looked like she was about Hermione's age now that he could see her face, and she also had the same kind of focus his daughter had. Even with him standing in front of her, she had not looked up from her nimbly dancing hands; he could almost believe she was working with her eyes closed.

"We haven't been introduced. Wendell Granger."

That earned him a small tilt of her head before she replied, "Jen Black. A pleasure."

Black, Black. Why did that name sound familiar? Ahhh, that was it. "You were protecting the train with Hermione, weren't you?" It was not the only time he had heard her name come up, but telling her most of what he knew about her came from insults overheard from his daughter probably was not the best way to open a conversation.

She murmured an assent. Her attention was largely focused on what she was doing, and he took a closer look at it. Three thin fibers dangled from her hands, two a silvery white and one black, their lengths mostly braided together with only a little bit left to go. Spaced equally along it were three small charms that shined brightly, crystal of some sort with multiple facets to catch the light. Runes, perhaps. They certainly looked like some of the symbols in the books Hermione had purchased a few years ago. She dipped her fingertips in a silver bowl and rubbed a couple of drops of water along the end of the braid she had been working on before resuming her weaving.

It was probably rude to interrupt her yet again, but he could not help himself. "That looks a lot different from the magic we've seen since we got here."

This earned a small smile from Black. "Let me guess. You came expecting to see something strange and mystical. Songs and chants, incense smoke everywhere, girls dancing naked around a fire in the woods. Instead it's all wave a wand, say a few words, and once whatever is supposed to happen happens, it's on to the next thing."

"You're not wrong." The ease and nonchalance with which not only the adultsbut the children, too, used their magic stole all the mystique away from the kinds of talents he had once thought existed only in fantasy novels. The whole 'dancing naked' thing was a subject he was glad was not part of the Hogwarts curriculum, but otherwise it was actually pretty disappointing.

She wet the braid again, and he resolved to watch her a little more closely. It looked like there was a pattern to that. "I'm not terribly surprised. Most of the magic taught here falls under the definition of wizardry: using a wand, a staff, or some other focus object to manipulate magical energy directly for whatever purpose you have in mind. Quick, convenient, and generally temporary in effect, though there are always exceptions. Other methods are taught, of course – runes, potions, arithmancy, divination – but they make up a minority of the magic the average person on the street uses in their daily lives. True witchcraft is a dying art in Europe."

"What are you making?" he asked when she once again dipped her fingers in the bowl, and he nodded to himself. Just as he half-expected, seven braids before she went for the water.

"An amulet. These are dangerous times, and a girl should never be without protection." Only now did she look up and meet his eyes. "But I doubt you came looking for me just to ask that."

He gave her a sheepish smile. "Honestly, I wasn't looking for you specifically. I just followed the singing." She shrugged at that and worked on the braid a little more before she picked up a small piece of metal and tied it onto the end of the amulet that was looking more and more like a woven charm bracelet. A clasp, perhaps? He expected that to be the end of it, but she instead reached for the bowl of perfume and set it on the ground in front of her. He hissed in sympathy when she stuck her fingers into the steaming liquid and started working it into the braid. "What is that?"

"Myrrh. A little old-fashioned, perhaps, but I felt the symbolism behind it was appropriate."

Right, she was practicing 'true' witchcraft. Maybe symbolism actually meant something for this kind of magic, though what myrrh was he wasn't completely sure beyond being something out of a Christmas carol.

He took a closer look at her and wondered. Yes, he had heard things about her from Hermione. Few, in fact none, of those things were good. But just this idle small talk painted Black in a far different light than all of Hermione's defamations. Perhaps she could offer a new perspective on the question that was bothering him. "Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about some of the people here? I'm trying to get a couple of different opinions about them."

"Granger's friends, I presume?" Black asked in a knowing tone. "I am not the one you want to ask. Your daughter and I don't exactly get along, and the same could be said about her friends."

"May I ask why?"

"Different personalities, different political positions." His expression was one of confusion, and she must have picked up on it in his silence even though her eyes were again focused on her amulet. "Your daughter's friends – Longbottom, the Weasleys, the Potters, Dumbledore, et cetera – are part of the more liberal political faction. Pull more Muggles and Muggleborns into society, pattern the government after nonmagical Britain, ban 'aberrant' and 'dangerous' magics. All very nice and _progressive_." Blowing on the braided bracelet, she held it up as if for inspection. "I, as you might be able to guess, have a more traditional leaning. I want to protect and reestablish our old practices and customs. As the heiress to a family with a great deal of political power, I have a vested interest in us keeping that power. Put people with different political views together, and conflict is unavoidable."

"And yet you came to help us get to safety despite standing against bringing us into your world." She had not mentioned 'Light' and 'Dark', but he had heard those terms already, from the Weasley parents and Mrs. Longbottom in particular. They had used the terms more as synonyms for 'good' and 'evil', though, citing the terrorists who had taken over the country as the perfect example of Dark wizards. Black, for all that she had admitted to be on the so-called Dark side of the spectrum, was the first one to give a comparison that was relatively unbiased.

That kind of demonization did not paint Hermione's chosen group in a good light.

She waved one hand dismissively. "Magic is magic, and people are people. Pureblood and proud of my heritage I may be, but I know the 'Muggle menace' is nothing but fear-mongering. It isn't bringing in witches of all origins I oppose, just the abolishment of our traditions that is seen by many as a prerequisite to call ourselves inclusive." Clipping the amulet around her right ankle, she twisted her foot back and forth to look at it. "Beyond that, I don't know them well, and I am perfectly content with that. My Head of House is closer to your daughter's friends' parents if you want someone with a more informed opinion."

"No, that's fine. What you've told me has been very helpful." Maybe it was the political polarization Black had implied that was what troubled him about Hermione's friends, but he could not help but think it was more than that. If they were the kind of people who wanted to integrate nonmagical people into their society, why did it feel like they did not care about his or Monica's opinions any more than Hermione seemed to do? At times, he had felt almost like he and his wife, Hermione's own parents, were being ignored as if they were nothing more than outspoken children, and by the very same people who claimed to be on their side.

That was a question for another night's stroll. For now, he needed to go to bed. "I hate to trouble you any more than I already have, but do you think you can show me the way back to the guest wing? I got turned around on my way here," he explained to her raised eyebrow.

She opened her mouth to reply, but before any words came out she closed it again and simply gave him a sly smile. Picking up the thick candle she had used to melt the myrrh, she blew it out and kept blowing. The smoke from the candle billowed out and curled around itself, and Wendell could only stare when instead of a cloud there stood a tiger made entirely out of smoke. "The guest wing is out of my way," Black told him, "but she will lead you where you need to go."

The illusionary apex predator licked its lips just like its flesh and blood counterpart might, which sent a shiver down his spine. It… probably could not hurt him. Right? "It knows the way? Are you sure?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Granger." The young woman stood and started gathering her belongings. "She's as trustworthy as I am."

Lacking any other options, he started walking to the door, and the tiger took that as its signal to start moving as well. "Well," he said once he left the room and closed the door, "lead on, I suppose."

* * *

_She opened her eyes and squinted at the bright sunlight trying to blind her. A convenient shadow moved in front of the light. Blinking the spots out of her vision, she smiled up at the swarthy man who stood before her. That smile grew larger when she noticed the glass of chilled wine in his hand. "For me?" she asked coyly._

" _For you,_ mia cara _," he agreed._

_She moved over to make room for him on the blanket where she had been sunbathing, and this lovely vision of manliness settled next to her, their bodies sliding ever so slightly against each other. His hand settled on her knee before slipping up her thigh and around her bare hip. His eyes followed a bead of sweat as it rolled between her breasts, and when his gaze met hers, it was no longer thirsty for simple wine._

_Setting the glass out of sight, he moved closer to lay kisses on her jaw and down her neck, and then he rolled on top of her. She spread her legs to make more room for him and let her head loll as his lips moved south_ …

"…doesn't look good…"

"…too warm…"

"…ey ever getting sick…"

A sharp smack against her cheek half-opened Tracey's eyes to reveal Jen and Luna standing on opposite sides of her bed. Jen reached down to force her eyes all the way open, but try as she might, all she could do was groan in displeasure. "Welcome back to the land of the living," the black-haired witch said with a tight, forced smile. "How do you feel?"

Finally getting her arms to cooperate, Tracey slid the blanket back up to cover her. The thick cotton did little to stifle the shudders starting to hit her with a vengeance. "Like shite."

"Not a surprise. You're burning up."

She did not realize she had closed her eyes again until a cool hand settled on her forehead and she had to open them to see Luna's face far too close to hers for comfort. "Why didn't you tell us you were getting sick last night?"

"I wasn't."

Her roommates shared a glance, their old romance still allowing them to hold a whole conversation with only a single look. Not that it meant they were of one mind; Luna nodded emphatically, but Jen shook her head once and then looked back down at Tracey. "Do you want us to take you down to Pomfrey?"

"I'm fine," she whined, hitch the blankets all the way to her chin. "It's the flu or something. Just wanna sleep." Sleep. That sounded wonderful. Something about sleep niggled at her, a tiny seed of worry begging to sprout, but she could not put her finger on it.

"Fine," Luna bit out with a glare at Jen. "But if you don't feel any better by this afternoon, you're going to Madam Pomfrey. No ifs, ands, or buts."

For Merlin's sake, she didn't need to go to the hospital wing. She looked up at Jen, but even her fellow heiress had abandoned her. "If you're getting worse after a day to rest, it won't hurt to get looked at," Jen agreed. "I've heard a sip of Pepper Up can do wonders for some of the symptoms. Might make you feel better."

She gave them a tired huff and huddled deeper under the covers. Jen and Luna talked at her for another minute before they finally left for breakfast and classes, and once they were gone she shut her eyes and tried to get comfortable.

She'd feel better after some sleep. Maybe she'd dream of being somewhere nice and warm. A beach, maybe.

* * *

_Click. Clink._

_Click. Clink._

_Click. Clink._

_Click. Clink._

Paula wrapped her fingers around her lighter and knocked her head lightly against the trunk of the large oak tree behind her. Why oh why did it have to be Sunday already? That meant tomorrow was Monday, and she had to go back to that abysmal school and all its students and just _ugh_.

She knew intellectually that the same or similar thoughts were running through the heads of other kids all over the country, but the reason for her distaste was different. They just did not want their weekend to end. She legitimately hated the place. When her foster parents forced her to go to school, she had been put with a bunch of other eleven- and almost twelve-year-olds. A bunch of kids who had been going to school for a while, who knew what the hell was going on. She was good at maths, had to be after running Candyland once Mama left, but literature? History? Biology? None of that had ever mattered to her, and to her immense displeasure, she was so far behind that she had to spend hours and hours in remedial classes after everyone else went home for the day.

Bugger Tom and Lori and their story about her mother's shitty job home-schooling her.

It was days like today, and really every day for the last couple of months, that she really really _really_ wanted a smoke, but wishing for that was nothing but a waste of time. She had brought a few cigarettes into the house, and she had snuck a few in, and she had even hidden a box or two nearby where she could get to them when she needed them. And yet somehow, someway, it took maybe two days at most before they were gone from wherever she left them and she got another lecture on how smoking was bad for her. She was honestly starting to think one of her foster parents, and most likely Lori, was a witch like Mama because there was no other way they could find every single one of her stashes that quickly.

She flipped the lid of her lighter open and closed again. Okay, to be fair, besides the no smoking thing and being dubbed the class retard by a bunch of little kids who had never done anything hard like run a club, things weren't too awful here. She talked to her half of the Candyland kids on a regular basis, and she and Drew were in touch every couple of days to make sure everything was going all right with the other's group. And it was not like she had much to complain about when it came to Tom and Lori other than the cigarettes. They gave her the space she wanted for the most part, and they did listen to her opinion on things even if they didn't go along with it. It was how she talked them into letting her keep her lighter even though she couldn't smoke. This wasn't some cheap petrol station junk; Mama had made this just for her, and there was no way she was going to be parted from it.

A cool breeze ruffled her hair, and she sighed. "I wish you were here."

"What's wrong, squirt?"

Paula's eyes popped open at the familiar voice coming from her side. "Mama?!"

There stood the older girl, shoulder braced against the tree and her ankles crossed. That unstable pose was why she fell to the ground when Paula pounced. Her arms clasped tight around Mama's waist, she felt her cheeks and the jumper beneath her grow wet. "I missed you," she whispered.

"I missed you, too, sweetie." Fingers carded through her hair, and she relaxed into the girl, woman now, who had been everything she wanted and needed from an older sister or a mother. "But I'm here now. Tell me what's wrong."

The floodgates opened, and everything that had happened to her, good and bad and everything in between, came tumbling out of her mouth faster and faster. By the time she was done nearly an hour later, Mama had moved them over to the old tree and had Paula sitting in her lap with her arms around her shoulders. Paula slumped into her, completely spent by the emotional outpouring.

"I was afraid," Mama confessed into her hair. "When I sent all of you into that police station, I was so afraid of what was going to happen to you. I didn't know where you would go or if I was sending you somewhere terrible. I'm so glad that isn't what happened."

"You… You think things are going to be okay?" Paula asked, her voice trembling.

Mama put her fingers under her chin and forced her to look up. The older girl's eyes glistened, but she did not cry. She just nodded. "Yes. I think things are going to be okay."

"Stay." The watery smile on Mama's face faded at her demand, but she pushed on. "Stay with me. With us. _Please_ , Mama. We all miss you. Stay this time."

"Oh, Paula. I would, but I'm needed where I am now."

"We need you!"

A soft thumb brushed tears off her cheeks. "You want me, sweetheart. I want you, too. But the younger kids have you and Drew, and you two have each other. This couple you're with don't sound so bad, either. The people I'm with now? I'm the only one who can keep everyone in line and knock heads together. They don't have anyone else."

"You love them more than us," she said in a heartbroken grumble. That was what was really going on, wasn't it?

"No, I don't. It's not a matter of loving more or less. It's a matter of doing what needs to be done, even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts." Mama bumped their foreheads together. "Do you remember what I told you a couple of years ago? When I came to celebrate Christmas with all of you and had to leave?"

"I can't stay, but I'm never gone. If you need me, I'll come running," she softly repeated. Dicky had proven that wasn't always the case. Mama was smart and powerful and got things done, but even she didn't know everything.

Mama was thinking along the same lines because she said, "Richard isn't here to muck things up anymore. I'm only a letter away. I wish I could be a phone call away, but phones don't work up there. Tell me you need me, and I'll be here just as fast as I can."

"…Promise?"

"I promise." Mama pulled her into a hug and pressed a kiss on the crown of her head. "Us Candyland kids need to stick together."

They stayed like that for too short a moment before Mama moved her over so they could stand up. "It's getting late, Paula. You should probably get inside and get ready for dinner."

"You could stay for dinner," she offered even as she knew what the answer was going to be.

Sure enough, Mama shook her head. "I need to head back. Too much to do. But for you, I'll make time." Forcing a smile, she waved a hand and sent a gentle breeze to push Paula towards the house.

"I love you!"

That surprised the older girl enough for the wind to stop, and Mama looked at her, sad again. "And I love you, Paula. I'll be back, I promise."

Mama took a couple of steps back and slipped out of sight behind the tree. Paula tried to chase her, but when she made a full circle of the tree there was still no sign of the older girl. Once more, Mama had disappeared.

She couldn't stop the tears that came with that thought.

* * *

 _ **Mia cara**_ **:** my dear

**I made a mention of it in** _**Black Princess Ascendant** _ **, but there isn't nearly enough showmanship in canon. Or, you know, much of anything besides wand-waving and pseudo-Latin.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	12. Blood and Water

" **What's up with Tracey?":** Wait and see, my friends. Wait and see…

 **Yummy Yuna:** The "point" to Paula's scene was to continue tying up a loose end. And because, you know, it's cute and sweet. I don't get to show Jen's softer side all that often.

 **Redhoticecube:** The only story I'm abandoning is Deal with a Devil. This is still ongoing, and I'm gonna finishing it if it kills me! (Or more likely kills a few characters ;-) ).

* * *

**Chapter 12  
** **Blood and Water**

"Ready for this?"

"MacDougal, has anyone ever told you that you're way too chipper in the morning?"

Jen sighed as Morag and Tracey launched themselves into yet another round of bickering. One would think they would eventually come to terms with each other, but sadly they both enjoyed pushing other people's buttons too much to stop. At least it seemed like it was all in jest rather than them throwing actual barbs with the intent to harm. She glanced over at the last member of their four-witch team to find Luna rolling her eyes good-naturedly at the pair. In the process their eyes met, and Luna gave her a warm smile before she realized what she was doing and looked away.

They needed to hash out whatever this problem between them was sooner rather than later, she decided. Now just was not the best time.

"Yes, yes, you're both pretty. Now can we focus on the exercise, please?" The pair of redheads settled down with matching unhappy expressions. They had to try harder if they wanted to move her, though; if Paula's pitiful pleading could not change her mind, these two had no chance. Jen waved her hand at the house in front of them. "We only have another minute to plan our strategy."

"What's there to plan?" scoffed Morag. "Get in, clear out the enemies, save the 'hostages', and get out before three minutes are up. Simple."

And this was yet another reason the hotheaded Scottish girl would never be a strategist. "How do you plan to 'clear out' our opposition? We all heard how much trouble Susan's team had with their dummies."

"Much as I hate to agree with her," Tracey said in an aggrieved voice that was clearly forced, "it really shouldn't be that hard if we treat this with the seriousness it deserves. Stunners and Disarming Charms won't do much against training dummies, and they won't stop Death Eaters, either. That's been tried and failed. We need to hit them harder and put them down."

"Do you think that is the best option, Tracey?" Her voice was devoid of any emotion, and she stared ahead to avoid making eye contact. She did not want to influence her friends in one direction or another. It made sense that it was the Slytherin who would figure out the true secret behind this test, even if it was not the one Dumbledore planned to teach. The old goat undoubtedly wanted to teach them to fight defensively, to keep themselves alive while they fought the Death Eaters for every step. That might work to get themselves out of trouble if their only objective was to survive, but if they were to win a war, they all needed to grow teeth.

However, such a move had to be their decision, freely chosen as opposed to forced upon them. If they did not decide to fight their enemies with necessary force here in training, it was all but guaranteed they would balk at the last second in a real fight. That moment of hesitation would be a deadly mistake.

Tracey looked at her strangely for a moment before she caught on to what was being asked. Returning her eyes to the building, she replied, "I'm a Halfblood and your ally. The Death Eaters want me dead. You can take care of yourself, but even you need someone to watch your back. When they try to kill me, I can either let them do it or fight them with everything I have. Just don't ask me to like it."

A bell rang. Time to get started.

"Morag, you take point. Blast everything that looks at us funny. Tracey, Luna, watch out for stuff coming from behind. I'll stop anything trying to flank us. Let's go."

The door stood there inviting, but it was also the obvious place to put a trap. Lifting her prop wand, she waved a lazy circle and gave a sharp yank. The wall collapsed outwards to reveal a dark room. Something moved in the shadows as soon as they stepped inside, and Morag squeaked in surprise even as the bright light of a Reductor Curse slammed into the chest of the training dummy. The foursome was silent for a moment before, "Nobody heard _anything_."

"Heard what?" Luna asked brightly.

Jen focused her attention on the dummy, her sonar picking up a myriad of details. She did not like what she found. Shaped roughly like a human torso with a single bent arm, but no articulation. Nor was there a head or legs. The darkness could hide their lack of features, but in the light it would be easy to see they were anything but living. That would be fine if they were fighting an army of training dummies, not so much fighting an army of people.

Then again, she thought as she looked at the 'enemy' again, perhaps she could use this. Was she a cruel enough person to make things harder on her friends in order to toughen them up? Widening her connection to the planet, she let the power flow through her into the shape she desired. Oh, they were going to hate her for this.

Tracey and Luna shivered as the wave of magic swept past them. "Jen," prompted the blonde with an unhappy expression, "what did you do?"

"Me? Why is it always my fault?"

Her friends did not appear convinced, but there was little they could do about it. Moving quickly with the tiny flame at the tip of Tracey's wand as their primary light, they took in their battleground. The ground floor of this three-story building was barren of any personal effects or furniture, no great surprise considering this building was built over the previous weekend specifically for these exercises and had to be repaired after each team ran the course, but the utter lack of personality was still off-putting. Her connection to the magic and wards of Hogwarts gave her a better awareness of the layout than she would have in the real world, and she could feel the stairs and the animated dummies on the top floor that represented the hostages they were meant to save. And the dummies they had to fight through to get there.

It would be nice if they could finish the assignment in time, but none of the teams going before them had succeeded. In light of that, it was better her friends got a taste of what was waiting for them.

"This way," she said, pointing down a hall in the direction of the stairs. The four girls moved quickly, as if they could hear the _tick-tick-tick_ of the clock counting down. The door on the other side of the stairwell was open, and she avoided looking at it as she followed Morag up the stairs. Just a little farther… little more…

Their opponent moved into sight.

Tracey and Luna's stifled screams made Morag spin around. The Death Eater turned towards them, his wand already held out and glowing with the spell he was about to cast. Tracey flailed her wand at the wizard, the flickering flame lengthening into a whip of flame that lashed him once, twice. The third swing lopped off his wand arm as he fell to the ground unmoving.

"How are their Death Eaters here?!" Morag demanded, her burr thickening from fear. Tracey stared at the Death Eater. Luna, though, Luna stared at Jen with a disapproving gaze. Of course it would be her ex-girlfriend who figured it out first. Jen shook her head just the tiniest bit. If Luna saw through her trick, fine, but the other girls needed this. They needed to feel the terror they would feel in a real fight, and they needed to process what would be required of them before they risked their lives. If that meant enshrouding the training dummies in an illusion of a Death Eater, then that was what she would do.

The encounter with a 'Death Eater' had Tracey and Morag on edge, but the belief that they were facing actual people thankfully did not make them want to stop. Perhaps they assumed that this was all part of the plan; perhaps they figured out they were simulacra. Regardless, Morag put a couple of Reductors into the next several they crossed, and Luna definitely did her part in defeating the masked dummies. When another one burst out from behind a corner, the blonde sent some of the hornets she had transfigured out of rubble at its head, and then she aimed her wand. Last year, Luna had some problems with silent casting, but now that they had learned point-casting, the shoe was on the other foot. She called out the incantations so quickly Jen could not keep up, and her wand was unmoving, hurtling spell after spell in a never-ending chain of hexes and charms. The dummy went down, just as confused about what happened as the rest of them were.

"Remind me not to make you mad," she muttered, and then she politely ignored the almost hysterical edge to Luna's startled laughter.

Only six dummies attacked them on the way up the stairs, though she could feel the others moving into position. To give them a harder time on the way out, she supposed, as if lugging two dummies over their shoulders would not make things difficult enough all on its own. The hostage dummies sat tied together on a box in the middle of the room, more like stuffed dolls than the wooden contraptions set up to attack them. The hostages could not speak through their gags even if they were capable of it in the first place, but their faces were expressions of terror when they laid eyes on Jen.

_Nice touch, Dumbledore._

A flick of her prop made the pair as limp as if they were living things hit by a Stunner, and she levitated them from their perch. "A galleon says there are a bunch of Death Eaters waiting for us to try to get back down."

"That's a sucker's bet, and you know it," Tracey bit out. "Besides, we're almost out of time. It's been, what, a little over two minutes already?"

Morag shook her head. "So we might as well give up? Not a chance."

"Jen?" The three girls turn to Luna, who was watching Jen with a knowing look. "You have the power, and we all know you like to make a scene when it makes you look impressive. Mind making us a door?"

Since she asked so nicely… Jen floated the hostages over to the blonde and waved her right hand at the wall. The wood shattered and swirled, a wide hole appearing in this wall and the one behind it, and then the one behind that as the group tromped through the ruins. The outside wall had a matching hole blasted through it, and she gathered all the debris to create a platform for them to stand on as they drifted down to the ground.

"You know, I was fine with failing this. I already got what I wanted out of it," she whispered to Luna.

"Everything's not all about you, Jen."

Dumbledore was waiting for them when they stepped off the platform, a stern scowl firmly on his face. It was clear he wanted to chastise them for their approach to the problem, but there was little he could say without sounding petty. They got in, got the hostages, and got out, all within the time limit. No collateral damage, no injuries to themselves. It was a picture perfect performance, and he knew it.

"In the real world, girls, there would be enemies surrounding the building. It would be safer to return the way you came. Fewer enemies, and that is where your allies would be waiting for you."

"But Professor, you said we needed to treat this as though we had no one waiting for us," Luna said in an guileless voice. "And wouldn't staying in one place put any hypothetical allies in greater danger? It would be safer for them for us to leave in an unexpected manner. It would distract the Death Eaters and force them to choose between following us or continuing to attack out allies. With a smaller number of people chasing either group, the chances of escape go up tremendously."

"That's—" Completely right, and he knew it if his sigh was any indication. "You may have a point, Miss Lovegood. But since you damaged the structure so thoroughly, all four of you will need to help repair later tonight. You are all dismissed!" he called out to the other students. "Your assignment for the weekend is the think about where your approach succeeded and where it failed. I expect a detailed analysis from each group on my desk by the end of classes Monday!"

Tracey huffed and nudged her with an elbow. "You're the one who made the mess, so you get to clean it up. Consider it payback for the whole Death Eater thing."

With a blink of confusion, Morag looked between Jen and Tracey. "Wait, that was her?"

"Fine, fine. Won't take two minutes, anyway." A flick of her hand sent the rubble that made up their platform back inside where it would be easier to sort everything out. Offering her arms, she was more than a little surprised when Luna latched on after a moment's hesitation.

Really, really needed to have that talk sometime soon.

* * *

Colorful bubbles and gusts of soothing steam rose from the row of cauldrons as Jen walked among the second-year Slytherins and Gryffindors. "Slower, Michael. Slower. You're stirring the potion, not whipping it," she told one over-eager Snake. The boy nodded absently and slowed his vigorous motions, the acid green froth settling down and no longer threatening to overflow onto the flames and set the entire potion on fire. Potion-brewing was a delicate art, and in some ways Snape's acerbic demeanor was appropriate considering the dangers that could come with making a mistake. Of course, it also terrified impressionable minds, minds that would forever see potions as a chore at best and a frightening subject to be left alone at worst.

She had originally accepted the job working as Snape's teaching assistant solely because he offered a treasure trove of dark curses in the bargain, but ironically it was her late-night conversation with Granger's father that had solidified a desire to see more students pursue further education in potions. What she had told the man was not a lie; witchcraft truly was dying in Europe. Wizardry was quick to cast, required no components, and provided immediate results. So what if those were results were transitory? Humans naturally preferred short-term solutions and immediate gratification. Potions, enchanting, rituals; those all required investment, and if there was one thing modern wizards and witches hated, it was being invested in something.

Perhaps it was because following the ritual that connected her to the planet's magic she needed no study to master wizardry, but transfiguration and charms and curses, while undeniably useful, held little allure for her. Enchanting and rituals? They took time and practice, and there was a sense of fulfillment when she finally succeeded in those fields. That they were central to her kind of black magic was a definite bonus, and that was the other reason she felt she should promote the resurgence of the slower arts in Britain. The more people turned to witchcraft, the easier it would be to lure them into the Old Ways and the worship of the Dark Powers.

And if they turned to the Baron in particular out of the Powers? Well, that was just how things worked out, wasn't it?

A glance at the clock showed that the class was almost done. "Time to wrap things up, boys and girls. Bottle up what you have and bring your vials to the desk, along with a note stating at what step you are. You won't get full marks for an incomplete product, but being on the right track is worth partial credit."

The first students opened the door on their way out, and Jen frowned as her sonar poured out through the opening and washed over the two individuals standing on the other side of the corridor. No sparking, spitting balls of lightning in their chests that all witches had; all they were was a pair of thrumming outlines. Muggles then, which narrowed their possible identities dramatically, but Muggles were always harder to recognize with her sonar than were members of the magical populace. Her kids at Candyland she had no problems with because of her long association with them, but even repeat clients took time for her to become familiar with.

Returning to her desk, she glanced over to check if she could recognize them by sight instead. The woman she could not, but the man was easy. Few people stumbled upon her in the dead of night while she worked a ritual enchantment. She must have summoned him with her thoughts, for there was no other reason she could think of for why Grangers' parents would track her down.

One of the students stopped when he saw who was waiting for her and made his way over to her side. "There are a couple of Muggles out there," he warned.

"I noticed them earlier. They probably want to talk to me."

He stared at her aghast. "You shouldn't be with them alone. I-I could stay with you."

She did not pet the young Slytherin consolingly on the head, but it was a near thing. "I doubt they wish me harm, Alec. Like I said, they just want to talk. I have spoken with them before to explain some of the details of the new society they have found themselves in."

A moue of distaste crossed his features, but he did not argue with her. And if he walked a little faster than was necessary once he was in the hallway, she would not tell anyone. Closing the door behind her, she pulled her hair out of the ponytail she had started putting it up in when she was around brewing potions and gave the couple a nod. "Good afternoon, Mr. Granger. And you must be Mrs. Granger."

"Good morning to you, as well," the man agreed. "Yes, this is my wife, Monica."

"A pleasure." The lady Granger bit her lip for a moment before adding, "Don't take this the wrong way, but you seem a little… _old_ for that class."

She thought Jen was…? The witch covered her mouth but could not stop the chuckles that bubbled out. "Oh, without a doubt. For the last couple of years Professor Snape has offered his seventh-years the opportunity to assist him in teaching the younger years. He is an exceptional potioneer, a recognized genius in the field, but unfortunately he does not have the patience necessary to teach beginners."

"Well, be that as it may," Wendell said with a slight cough into his hand, "I was hoping we could talk a little more, just the three of us."

More of this? Really? "As I believe I told you before, I am not the person you want to discuss your daughters companions with. I don't know much more than I told you that night, and I do my best to avoid them like the plague. Unless you want me to contact my Head of House, I have little to offer you."

"Please, just a few minutes. We've heard a number of different things on a variety of subjects, and sad as it is to say, you're the only person I can think of who has given me anything approaching an unbiased view of what's going on."

She sighed and opened her mouth to refuse when a sudden thought clicked her jaws together. This wasn't just any set of Muggle parents. These were Granger's parents. Granger's! And they were coming to _her_ for an explanation of the war and wizarding society? They must have asked their daughter and others in the Light and found those answers wanting. Further, and what was actually important, they were the Muggles closest to the people involved in the war. Turning Granger's own parents against her was a tempting enough prospect, but if she could somehow poison the entire cohort against the Light in general and Dumbledore in particular? Convince them not to trust the man who had spent his political career advocating for them and their children?

Oh, that would be a coup indeed!

Forcing her sigh to sound resigned, she waved down the hall. "I know a couple of places we can talk in privacy."

Luck was on her side as one of the many transient rooms in the castle had chosen that day to manifest, and she opened the door to find a comfortable little lounge with a couple of love seats and a small table between them. Relaxing into one sofa, she waved her prop wand at the door to lock it and set up her normal suite of eavesdropping protections. "You had questions. Ask away."

The Grangers held a silent conversation with their eyes for a moment before Wendell turned back to her. "What do you know of Albus Dumbledore?"

… _Well, then. Ask and it will be given to you, I suppose._ Best not to give the game away too early, though, so she leaned back and gave them a curious expression. "I know a great many things about the so-called Leader of the Light. More than I want to know, yet less than I need to know. What in particular are you curious about?"

"Hermione has only ever sung his praises. All throughout her years here, we've heard about his power, his wisdom, and his moral core. But now?" He shook his head. "Some things just don't add up. You said that your family was well connected in the government, and Hermione has said that you yourself are very… politically minded. I hoped you might have some answers for us."

"I need a little more detail than that." That said, she could think of a few things they might have overheard since coming to Hogwarts.

"Something about him being stripped of all his positions and facing criminal charges. Hermione said all the evidence was fabricated, and the Minister doesn't seem to have much interest in arresting him from what we've seen, but Madam Longbottom let slip that he wasn't reinstated when the old Minister was removed from office." Wendell shrugged. "The pieces don't fit."

"Perhaps it's because you're trying to put together the wrong picture." The Muggles looked askance at her, and she made herself comfortable. Summarizing the last two years? This was not going to be a quick tale. "The politics of magic and power are complicated enough at the best of times, and war is not good at simplifying things. You know about what happened just before the summer of 1995, I assume? The Dark Lord Voldemort, better known as You-Know-Who due to the sheer terror he inspired in the populace, was not dead as had been assumed but had managed to take on the form of a wraith. With the help of hidden servants, he was reincorporated and gathered again the blood purists that make up the core of his army. I was an unwilling witness to his rebirth, and I barely escaped his clutches. When I returned to Hogwarts, I revealed what I had witnessed, but Cornelius Fudge, the previous Minister of Magic, refused to accept it. He was a peacetime Minister, and more importantly a coward. If Voldemort had returned in truth, he was looking at another civil war, and he did not want to believe it.

"I twisted my story, just a little bit, and made it sound like it was a pretender who merely claimed to be Voldemort. Fudge was more willing to accept this; Voldemort was one thing, but a fake? That he could handle. Dumbledore refused to bow to expediency, and in doing so he pushed Fudge away. I don't know what twisted thought process he used to come to his conclusion, but ultimately Fudge convinced himself that Dumbledore was after his position and making up all these claims so as to have him removed from office. He even sent one of his cronies to Hogwarts to dig up evidence of this.

"It's ironic," she said softly, "but by some stroke of luck, Umbridge proved the axiom that even a stopped clock is right twice each day. During her interviews, she pieced together the facts of all the insanity that has plagued the school for the last few years as well as that no one had ever reported it to anyone outside the castle. The entire school keeping everything a secret? That beggared belief. A little more digging, and she stumbled upon the truth: Dumbledore had used mind magic – mental manipulations, even spells and potions to seal away or remove memories – to prevent word from spreading. That is incredibly illegal, and he was officially removed from his position of Headmaster, his last high position, and a squad of Aurors came to arrest him. He fled with his tail between his legs."

"Hermione was quite insistent that he was the victim in all this," reminded Wendell.

"Feel free to research his fall from grace yourself if you don't believe me. It was all the _Prophet_ talked about for a solid week. Spring of 1996, I think March or April."

"If he's really guilty, why is he still walking around free?" Monica challenged.

Jen's smile was humorless. "Voldemort. Even whispers of his return were enough to throw the country into chaos, and then he appeared in the middle of Diagon Alley and slaughtered everyone who came after him. Dumbledore has a reputation as the only man Voldemort ever feared, and once it was proven beyond doubt that Voldemort was back, the DMLE couldn't pursue Dumbledore the way they wanted to. His reputation and his power made him too valuable an ally and too dangerous a threat. Three-sided civil wars rarely go well, and that's what we could have been facing if the DMLE hadn't compromised."

That rubbed Granger's mother the wrong way if her scowl was any indication. "So just because he is a little stronger, he can do whatever he wants with impunity?"

"And that right there is one of the core differences between the Muggle and magical worlds," she said with a shake of her head. It was somewhat surprising that a Muggleborn's parents would not know this, but perhaps Granger did not realize it yet herself. Or maybe Granger was too much a champion of social equality to take off her rose-colored glasses. "In the eyes of magic, all men are not created equal. Some are just more powerful than the rest, and Dumbledore is well-known as the strongest wizard of his generation. The position of Minister has the weight of law behind her, but authority is not the same as one's own personal might. Power begets power."

"That's hideous."

Jen could not hold back her laugh. It was obvious where Granger got her uncompromising ideals concerning equality, the kind that led to her trying to free the house elves. "And from a witch's perspective, your insistence on ignoring your own elites would be equally disturbing. Different cultures, different values."

"While interesting, this is a bit afield of what we wanted to discuss," Wendell cut in as he laid one hand on his wife's knee. "While I would like to research this information, let's assume for now that you're right. Why wouldn't his supporters desert him once they found out about his misdeeds?"

She raised an eyebrow. Why would the Grangers ask questions of her, a virtual stranger, only to dismiss the answers? A mental probe slipped inside his mind with a feather-light touch, and a moment's search was all it took to find the answer. Surprise, surprise, Wendell Granger _did_ believe her. He believed her wholeheartedly. Everything she had said meshed too tightly with what he had observed himself. The whole reason he was playing devil's advocate was because he did not want to admit that his daughter had fallen prey to a 'bad crowd'.

The irony was almost overwhelming.

 _Sorry, Granger, but your parents are the black side's pawns now._ "You hit the nail on the head. Dumbledore's supporters. They follow him because of his reputation and his charisma. They put their faith in him, and when the truth came out, they rejected the idea that their faith was misplaced so as to avoid dismantling their world-view."

The Muggles fell silent, and she left them to their thoughts. Wendell's in particularly were entertaining, but it was from her mother that Granger had inherited her bull-headed stubbornness. The woman wanted to trust her daughter, and she was willing to push back against everyone and everything who argued against her until she had no choice to accept what she was told. "How can we trust what you say? Some people have said you're an incorrigible liar."

"' _Some people'_ can take a long walk off a short cliff." Who would have told them that? Dumbledore? The Longbottoms? The Weasleys? Or maybe… She rolled her eyes. "Wait, let me guess how this went. You," she pointed at Wendell, "mentioned meeting me to your daughter, and she told you I couldn't be trusted. Something about me pretending to be a Black when I'm really James and Lily Potter's long-lost daughter?"

"How'd you come to that conclusion?" Wendell asked in a mild voice.

"Lucky guess. Also, I've heard it before."

Monica eyed her. "You don't sound like you think much of her theory."

"I think the word you're looking for is _'delusion'_ , and no, I don't. Maybe the Potters did have a daughter. No one ever knew about her, but it's possible she was sickly and died shortly after she was born." She shrugged. "Who knows? I, however, have a paternity test that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'm the child of James Potter and Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Bellatrix Lestrange as in one of this Voldemort's fighters?" pressed Monica with a doubtful look.

"And his right-hand witch, and his chief enforcer. Also yes, the very same James Potter you've probably met."

"How the hell would that even happen? We've met James. From the way he talks, he would rather cut off his own head than deal with a Death Eater."

"The only person who knew is my mother, and she is certifiably insane. She didn't even remember me the last time I visited her in prison. My family's best guess is that the answer involves a body-bind-assisted rape and subsequent memory modification, though it's also possible one or both of them were in disguise so no one would know they were looking for an extramarital fling." Jen plastered an obviously fake smile on her face. "Personally, I'm happy not knowing the details about the night my mother got knocked up. She did, I'm here, that's enough for me."

Wendell hummed thoughtfully. "You said you had heard Hermione's theory before?"

Her voice was dry when she replied, "Loudly and at length. I told her it was a load of tosh, but she was convinced she was right. I suppose she found it easier to swallow than a man she looked up to being unfaithful. Oh, well."

"You don't sound concerned about that," Monica pointed out.

"Why would I? Don't take this the wrong way, Mrs. Granger, but I don't give a damn about your daughter or her opinion of me. If she wants to live in her own little dreamworld, that's her problem. I have proof of my parentage, and everyone knows about it. A reporter found out and thought it was a good idea to splash it all across the newspaper." She smiled. "You can find that in the _Prophet_ , too. First week of August 1995."

Wendell finally sighed, and Jen knew it was over. She had won Granger's own father to her side, and he would ultimately be the one who convinced his wife. "Hermione was always an intelligent, reasonable girl. I don't understand why she would like this now." Monica reached for his hand, and the two parents sat there quietly for a long moment.

This was probably not the most opportune time, but better to strike while the iron was hot than wait for a better setting that might never come. "I do not claim to be unbiased about them," she whispered, magic caressing the rune carved in her tongue and dipping her words in poisoned honey, "but the diehard members of the Order of the Phoenix? They've always creeped me out a little. I understand following a charismatic leader, but they take their devotion to the same extreme the Death Eaters do. It's almost like they view him as their only hope for salvation from the big, scary world outside."

Predictably, it was Wendell who figured it out first. "Dear Lord, our daughter's joined a cult."

She let the Grangers have a few minutes of privacy, and soon enough Monica pulled Wendell to his feet. The pair gave her a few mumbled words of thanks for her time before staggering out the door, drunk with despair about what their precious little girl had gotten herself mixed up in. Jen waited for them to close the door, then she renewed the protections upon it.

Only once she was alone did Jen let loose her laughter.

Tears staining her cheeks, she flopped back into the cushions, a few weak chuckles still slipping out her mouth here and there. That had been perfect! She could not have pulled off a stunt like that better if she had planned it from the outset. Even the room had been the perfect setting. Oh, fortune had smiled on her today.

She glanced around the room while her smile faded. Fortune, or something else? The castle was finicky at the best of times, so what were the chances she would find this room just when she needed it? For that matter, her first meeting with Wendell Granger had been odd, too. She knew she sometimes sang when she worked because her family had mentioned that before, but it had always been quiet. Her singing was an unconscious action. So how had Wendell heard it from all the way down a corridor that night?

Coincidence could only be stretched so far before it became purpose.

"You may as well show yourself," she demanded of the empty room. "What are you up to, Portia Slytherin?"

* * *

**If you're curious, the dummies in the first scene are something between the training dummy in the fifth movie and Claptrap from Borderlands.**

**Next chapter is titled 'Confrontations', in case you were wondering. We finally get to see some long-awaited arguments.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	13. Confrontations

**My Sweet Oblivion:** As I mentioned in a reply shortly after talking about the "new white witch" in _Ascendant_ , that particular character is not showing up in the story. That blurb was purely to introduce the war between the Powers so _Coronation_ would make sense.

 **Jack Inqu:** How much of Jen's opinions are based off my personal beliefs? Almost none of them. I have some cynicism, no question about it, but not nearly to that extent. It takes some interesting mental gymnastics to put myself in Jen's mindset. Part of the reason her more questionable actions have her line of reasoning laid out is so you guys will understand it, but part of it is that I have to think it out on the page for it to make sense to me.

**For the third scene, I recommend cuing up Maroon 5's "This Love". That was my internal theme song for Jen and Luna's relationship throughout** _**Coronation** _ **.**

* * *

_"You may as well show yourself," she demanded of the empty room. "What are you up to, Portia Slytherin?"_

* * *

**Chapter 13  
** **Confrontations**

"You caught on faster than I hoped," a voice said from the chair in front of her.

There was no fading into sight or twist of space; one instant the chair sat empty, and the next there was a spirit reclining there. Translucent skin but of a human tone, green dress, white hair, and pale blue eyes. All exactly as Jen remembered for the house-spirit who was more commonly referred to as Lady Hogwarts.

"I am many things, Portia," replied Jen with a twisted smiled, "but _'fool'_ is not among them. It's a big castle, and the chances that Granger's father would just stumble onto me while I worked that night is slim. You lured him there. I just don't know why."

"That anklet is your first creation that is of a purely defensive nature." Portia waved one hand at her left ankle. "There was a certain beauty in it that your other projects have lacked. Was it so wrong to let a man see you in a softer light?"

Jen pulled her leg up to her chest. Beauty? Hardly. It was mere necessity, particularly if she kept getting into fights with armies. She needed something to protect her from external magic, which thanks to her lack of magical core she was pitifully resistant towards. Unicorn hair and the feather of a phoenix would be the most effective defenses, but the latter would certainly kill her if she tried to work with it. The former? Due to the darkness within her soul, even using that would normally be a risky business. Thankfully, two of the wands she had claimed from the Death Eaters she killed in Hogsmeade station held unicorn hair as their cores, and they were therefore soaked in sufficient dark magic that she could safely manipulate them.

After obtaining the hairs themselves, working with them was comparatively simple. Bathing them in pure spring water and moonlight to minimize the taint of dark magic and bring out their protective properties, anointing them with myrrh to better harmonize with her own nature, and then attaching Ogham runes she had carved after compressing coal into diamond. Muin, luis, and ailm. Perception, recovery from direct attacks, endurance; each a rune she had branded onto herself during the Triwizard Tournament. They served her well then, and she would take any advantage she could find.

"While I certainly have no _qualms_ about bringing a married man to my bed, I have little interest in the man who sired Granger. Not to mention that I doubt you concern yourself with keeping my kitty well-fed."

Portia's undoubtedly planned response caught on her tongue as she had to process that particular turn of phrase, and after a moment to think the sentience of the castle rolled her eyes. "I should not be almost glad there is a war to keep your attention focused elsewhere. The number of diseases that would run rampant within me otherwise is daunting.

"To your credit, however, I will grant that I sent Wendell Granger to you for another purpose. One I believe you have already figured out for yourself."

"Figured out what you wanted? Mostly. I don't disagree with the end result of your actions, but what I don't understand is _why_." Sitting forwards, Jen stared into the spirit's eyes. "Why are you setting the Muggles up to distrust Dumbledore?"

"Do you remember what I told you the last time we spoke?" whispered Portia with a growing snarl. "I _despise_ what Albus Dumbledore has done to my children. Good or bad, each student's decision and life are her own to make. I would tear him apart myself if only I were capable. At the least I would bar him and his followers from my grounds forevermore. Fate is not so kind to me. First, he was my headmaster, and I could do nothing to prevent his action. Last year, I thought I was finally rid of him, but then Griselda Marchbanks invited him back. To teach, even!" The spirit shook her head violently. "Again I am limited, bound by the laws of guest and host despite the poison my guests drip with their every word."

The laws of guest and host. She had said something similar during their previous conversation, now that Jen thought about it, though she had not been so clear as to the reasons why she did not interfere with the actions of the castle's inhabitants. Thinking on the stories she had heard – Voldemort's claim that he had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts in 1991, the basilisk wandering the halls the next year – she could not help but consider how large a security flaw that was. Then again, despite being built on the blueprints of a castle, that was not Hogwarts's true nature. It was first and foremost a school. "So you are powerless to stop him."

"Not truly powerless, but my options are extraordinarily limited. If I wish to bring him ruin, I must be indirect. Leading a well-spoken Muggle man to a young woman who itches to make Albus Dumbledore bleed, for instance." Portia smiled, but then her gaze shifted towards the distance. "Sadly this is not the only realm in which I chafe against my restrictions. Hogsmeade, despite its proximity, is not within my grounds, and my ability to act against the enemies at my gates is minimal. If I had a more martial-minded headmaster, perhaps my strength could be better brought to bear, but as it is I cannot hinder them any more than I already am."

Jen stared at her. This was the first she had heard about Death Eaters at the gates, though in hindsight it was hardly a surprise. The part that should truly surprise her was that they had yet to force their way inside. Was that what Portia meant? "How are you hindering them now?"

The living castle smiled darkly. "Poor things have had a remarkable rash of bad luck ever since they arrived. Alcohol goes straight to their heads, and in the ensuing duels curses fly true. The monsters brought to the town can barely tolerate their own kind, let alone any other, and the officers are so busy keeping their forces under control they cannot execute any of their plans before mead and food wash away their notes to illegibility." Seeing Jen's wide eyes, Portia laughed. "I am limited, child, but I am far from impotent. Yet even I cannot stop everything. The system of fireplaces Irma Pince, once and again Irene Fitzpatrick, set up? Albus Dumbledore and Amelia Bones fret that some of their exit points have been captured, and should the route back here be found, I will be unable to stop the invaders before at least some have made it inside."

"You could always shut them down before they track us down," she pointed out.

"I have considered it. If the Ministry's forces had another way to attack their targets and recruit soldiers, I would. That is not the case. The fireplaces will continue to burn so long as they yield greater benefits than dangers."

"You're dedicated, that's for sure."

"Does that surprise you?" Portia regarded her with a weighing eye. "I believe I have already made my position clear. I wish this war to end, and I will do whatever it takes to make that happen. If that means spilling blood, I will. If that means working against those who think they have my best interests in mind, I will. If that means forging an alliance with a girl who laughs as she bathes in the blood of the innocent?" Jen gave the spirit her most innocent expression. "Then that is what I shall do. The extremes I will not consider to keep my children safe would shock you with their paucity. Or perhaps they would not. After all, what would you not do in defense of your children, Mama?"

"Low blow, Portia."

"I felt it necessary." The woman's sharp smile was familiar, something Jen saw on her own face sometimes when she looked in the mirror. "But your attention is needed elsewhere, I fear. The clock ticks, Jennifer Black. Your master's demands are not to be ignored for long."

"How do you even know what the Baron wants?"

This time Portia did fade from existence, her eyes lingering for only a moment longer than the rest of her.

" _Death follows no rules but his own."_

* * *

Hermione tromped up the stairs to the so-called Muggle wing. She could be doing something productive with her time, finishing her homework or learning new spells for when she, Ron, and Neville joined the fight against the Death Eaters, but _no_ , her parents insisted that she spend Friday nights with them. She understood that they were probably bored out of their skulls from being stuck here with nothing to do, but did that mean they needed to waste her time too?

Opening the door, her frustration took a backseat to confusion. "What are you doing?" she asked, pointing at the newspapers spread over the Muggles' common room. Her parents were not alone in reading them, either; it seemed that most of the Muggleborns' parents were skimming through yellowing editions of the _Daily Prophet_ and even the _Quibbler_. Why would they have any interest in magical news from a couple of years ago?

"Why don't we go to the next room," her father said with a smile.

Something about his expression was wrong, and she glanced back and forth between him and her mother. "What's going on?"

Her mum walked over to the little side room off this wing's common room, and her dad came closer to wrap his arm around her shoulders as he all but pulled her towards the door. "We just decided that since we're stuck in the middle of this war, we should know more about what's going on than we do."

"You could have just asked me," she pointed out, "or the Weasleys or the Potters or anyone, really."

"True, true, but…" Her mother shut the door behind them, and her father sighed as he guided her towards one of the couches. "We needed to make sure we were receiving the most objective account possible."

Pulling out of his reach, she stared at him. _'Most objective'_ , as if… "Are you saying I'm not objective?"

His smile weakened and fell. "Let's just say your mother and I have heard a couple of conflicting stories and explanations about what's going on, and we wanted to get to the heart of the matter."

That was a no if she ever heard one. "Conflicting stories? Everything I've told you has been the truth. Who would tell you any _'conflicting'_ …" Their last conversation came to mind, and she stared at him in disbelief. "You talked to Black again? Why? Weren't you listening when I told you not to talk to her? She's an incorrigible liar."

"So you said. What you told me about her and what I saw with my own eyes are very different." He shook his head. "What's more, after talking with her I don't think she's a liar. I think she just says things you don't want to hear."

Her arms fell to her sides. He couldn't be saying what she thought he was saying. "You'd believe her over me? Your own daughter?"

"That's where you made your mistake," her mother finally said. "It isn't about believing you or her. It's about who has the most complete picture and whose statements are the more objective. You've told us many things, but when we look for the truth, what we find is completely different."

"And where are you looking for the truth? The _Prophet_?" she scoffed. "It doesn't print the truth. It prints whatever the reporters are told to report and keeps silent on what's really going on."

Her parents' eyes met for just a moment, whatever conversation they were having flashing by too fast for her to make a guess. "Such as what they reported about Dumbledore, I take it?" asked her mother quietly.

"Exactly!"

Her dad sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And yet, all we have heard from you, from his followers, has been very… one-sided. Everyone who is considered 'Light' is good, and those you identify as 'Dark' are irredeemable. That kind of demonization does not paint a good picture of your friends, you know."

"And what nonsense did Black tell you?" she demanded. "That the Dark is just misunderstood and the Light is full of naive fools?"

"Actually, she gave me a fairly impartial overview of the political perspective of both groups. It sounds like the Light and Dark are a lot like the Labour and Conservative parties, just with magic and faced with a constant immigration issue."

"It's nothing like that!" she shouted. "The Death Eaters are _evil_!"

"But is the entirety of the 'Dark side' composed of Death Eaters?" Her father shook his head. "She admitted that she's a supporter of the Dark, but she was there helping us get to safety. That doesn't sound like she agrees with the Death Eaters. Just the opposite. You can't judge an entire group based off its extremists, Hermione."

"Dad, she was _lying_ to you. She does that. Her entire persona is one big lie, starting with her claims of who her parents are!"

"You say it's a lie. She says it's the truth. More importantly, her paternity test says it's the truth," he said gently. "Do you have any evidence to back you up? Not just what the Potters might have said," he added when she opened her mouth, "but hard, physical evidence?"

"She got rid of all of the _evidence_ ," she spat, "when she murdered the Dursleys. Mrs. Potter's Muggle relatives. They raised Black for most of her life," she added to her parents' confusion.

"She murdered this family," her mum said in a strange voice, "and you know that how?"

"Mrs. Potter went to talk to her sister about Black's childhood, and she found out that their house had burned to the ground. She says the neighbors all thought the fire itself was 'unnatural'."

"All that proves is that they're dead and that it was somewhat suspicious. How do you know Black had anything to do with it?" demanded her mother.

Hermione threw up her arms. "Who else would do it? They didn't have importance to anybody else! The only people who knew about them were the Potters and Black, and Mrs. Potter isn't a murderer!"

"So let me sum this up." Her father set his hand on her mother's shoulder, but she shook it off. "You can't prove these Dursleys were murdered in the first place, only that they're dead. You have no evidence Black was involved. And to put the cherry on top, your entire chain of logic as for why she would even be a suspect in the first place relies on an assumption that _all_ the evidence says is a load of hot air!"

"And where is your proof she's so innocent?" She shook her head in disappointment. "If you want to believe her lies, that's on you. I _know_ what kind of monster she is."

"All you know is this delusion you're stuck in!"

Hermione could do nothing but stare at her mother, anything she could have said in response vanishing at that accusation. Delusion? Slowly, fearfully, she turned to her father. He was looking at the floor rather than at her. "You… You think I'm mad?"

"It's not your fault, honey," he whispered before he finally looked up. "You've… You've had a lot happen to you over the years, and you latched onto the first group who offered you their hand. We understand that. But you're sick. We just want to help you."

She took a staggering step back. "What? But… I…"

"We love you, Hermione. You know we do. Come back to us. Let us help you so you can get better."

He reached out; to pull her close, to push her away, to do something. She didn't know. All she knew was that the door was to the side, and then she was out.

"Hermione!"

She ran from the Muggle wing, sobbing loudly as her heart broke.

* * *

"…no idea what they'll do with the information. None at all." The door to their dorm opened, and Jen stepped inside. "But I figured if anyone needed to know— Oh, what now?!"

Luna glared at her, her arms crossed tight as anger won out over the worry with which it had wrestled for the last hour. "I could ask you the same question. One of your Slytherins found me because you disappeared with a couple of Muggles and were still missing. He was worried that they had done something to you." She narrowed her eyes at her ex-girlfriend. "Do I need to worry it was the other way around?"

Tracey, upon hearing those words, glanced back and forth between them and promptly took a step backwards so she was mostly behind the doorframe in case spells started flying.

Jen glanced up at the ceiling as though begging a higher power for patience. "I was 'missing' because Grangers' parents wanted me to explain a few things about the Wizarding World to them and they didn't trust the propaganda they were getting from Dumbledore's camp."

"That's why you were missing for over an hour?" asked the younger girl with an arched brow.

"If you don't believe me, you can bloody well ask them yourself!" Jen shouted back. "Or you can go on thinking I spent the hour shoving kittens up trees or kicking puppies or whatever other vile thing you assumed I was doing! I don't give a damn anymore!"

"Anymore?! You never cared! It's all Jen, Jen, Jen! Merlin, I don't know why I ever put up with you!"

Jen scoffed. "I don't know, either! I'm not the one acting differently. I'm the same now as I've always been!"

"You think I don't know that?!" Luna laughed, but the sound soon grew wet with furious tears. Oh, she knew. She knew that far too well. "You never changed. That's the whole problem!"

Jen stared at her for a long moment or two, emotions flickering across her face too quickly for Luna to parse. "Tracey?" she finally asked in a tight voice. "Could you give us some privacy, please?"

"You two are finally going to hash out whatever this is going on between you?" the Slytherin asked with relief. "About damn time. Take as _loooong_ as you need." The door slammed shut behind her, and the noise of the hallway was cut off presumably as the girl cast some privacy charms on the door. Charms that Jen supplemented with her own spells, followed up with a nauthiz rune she sliced into the air itself similarly to what she had done years ago when they played with squirrels. Luna doubted she would be able to open the door until Jen let her.

Perhaps she had not thought this through.

"Okay, Luna." A low table and a couple of chairs appeared between them. Jen walked over and settled herself. "Let's sit down and have a talk."

"I think I'd rather stand, thank you very much."

"Sit. _Down_!" Luna flinched back, and she knew her face was pale when she stared into Jen's eyes. She thought she had seen the dark witch well and truly angry, but now Jen's eyes were shadowed and her pupils had grown larger and colder than before. A blink, and when she looked again the changes had reverted as though they had never been. "I am not in the mood for games. I am not in the mood for dancing around the subject. You wanted a confrontation, Luna? A chance to air all your grievances with me? Congratulations, you've got it. _Sit_."

Luna hesitantly came closer to slip into the other chair.

They watched each other for a minute before Jen sighed and waved her hand over the tabletop. A glass ring appeared on the surface before glowing from within. "I've put a calming charm on the ring. If you touch it, it will affect you; if you release it, you'll be free of its influence again. The Baron knows I need some calm right now." Jen laid two fingertips on the ring and sighed while the tension in her shoulders melted away. "Now, Luna, what did you mean?"

"When?" the blonde asked, pointedly looking away with her arms wrapped around herself.

"Just now. How my not changing is the problem."

"You never changed," she muttered. "Friend, girlfriend, monster. You were always the same."

A placid blink was all that comment earned. "I don't understand."

 _You and me both_ , the blonde not help but think. "You're evil. You're a murderer."

"I'm aware."

"Well, I wasn't!" she snapped back. "Evil is supposed to wear its nature for all the world to see. It isn't supposed to act like someone who cares. And it isn't supposed to _be_ someone who cares."

A flash of irritation broke through Jen's spell temporarily, but only for a moment before it was smothered again. "I would appreciate it if you stopped talking in riddles and just said what you meant."

Oh, because Jen did not make an art of talking around the subject? The retort was on her lips when she felt something tug on her skirt. Was that Jen trying to play footsie or something? No, it couldn't be. She peered under the table, and her breath caught in her throat.

The jackal looked up at her with mismatched green and purple eyes. Its naturally sharp features were thrown into even crisper relief with how emaciated it was, and she could watch each rib move in and out with every panting breath. She reached out her hand only to freeze when the poor creature stumbled backwards with a whimper, its gaze focused on her fingers with terror naked on its face.

Did… Did it think she was going to hurt it?

She looked up to find Jen watching her curiously, and a sick feeling rose from her stomach. She had convinced herself that it was Jen's fault their relationship had fallen apart, but… maybe it wasn't entirely the other girl's fault. The Shuffling Whibblestumper that had been born at the start of their friendship would not be so afraid of her if Jen was solely to blame.

Maybe it was time they finally opened up to each other.

She let her left hand hang at the side of the chair while her right wrapped around the Ring of Calm. A cool breeze washed her concerns away, and she slumped in her chair. "Oh. That is nice."

"It is. I don't think we would have a meaningful discussion without a little help."

That was probably true. With newfound clarity, Luna looked back at their latest interactions. "You truly don't understand, do you?"

"Why you have been behaving in the manner you have? No. I am completely clueless."

"I see." How even to explain this? "Do you remember when we first met? On the Express? I was lonely; I had nobody. And there you were, surrounding yourself with people from all walks of life. I thought maybe I would be a hanger-on, but even that was better than nothing.

"Then we arrived at Hogwarts. You stopped the bullies and declared yourself my protector. You were the only one who believed me when I talked about the creatures I see. Throughout that year and really the next, too, you were the best friend I could ever ask for. Even when we started dating, and your… appetite became a problem, I didn't think you were doing it to hurt me specifically. It was just because you have a selfish streak a mile wide."

"Thank you," Jen said in a dry voice.

"You're welcome." A tiny scrap of amusement bubbled up past the calming charm at the flat look Jen shot her. "Last year, that was when the problems started. You cared more about politics and playing the marriage game than you cared about me. Was that just more selfishness, or were you so hungry for power that you would trade anything for it? The more I thought about it, the more I thought it was the latter, which was a new side of you I didn't like.

"Christmas, though." She shook her head as the fear and anger and hurt welled up even under the spell's influence; the emotions were still that strong. "You gave me the blasted Diadem, and I saw what I shouldn't have. I was happy not knowing your hands dripped with blood. I was happy not knowing how many people you killed over the years and how little you care. But most of all, I was happy not knowing I had fallen in love with a monster."

Her fingers clenched around the glass ring, and a wet nose tentatively touched her fingers. She moved slowly and stroked the Whibblestumper between the ears. She hoped this was the best route forwards.

"I thought… All my life, I've heard the same stories everyone else has. Evil is supposed to wear its nature on its face, and the few times it can hide, once it takes off its mask it doesn't put it back on. You had revealed your true nature to me, but when we came back for the new term, you acted like nothing had changed, like you were the same person you had pretended to be. Even when it was just us, you kept the mask on. Who were you trying to hide from? Who was I going to tell your secret to? You had our friends eating out of the palm your hand; they never would have believed me. I would just the jealous ex.

"It took me all summer to come to terms with the truth." She took a breath, pulling the scraps of her courage together so she could finally voice the realization that still frightened her. "You weren't hiding, were you? You never were. The persona you have here is just how you are. All the hints about your cruelty are there for all the world to see. We just never saw them for what they were."

"I wouldn't say all the hints are there," Jen whispered. "I am very good at hiding the truth when I wish to."

"Padma saw them. She mentioned it when we were talking about why we had broken up." Jen's eyes narrowed dangerously, and she hastily continued, "I didn't tell her the whole truth, just that you had hurt people. She said she almost expected it because of the personality traits we already knew about. Said she was surprised you hadn't killed people because you're your mother's daughter."

That seemed to appease Jen's anger, and she nodded as the calm took over again. "Padma's a smart girl."

Luna pulled her hand away from the ring and squeezed her eyes shut when the previously dampened emotions threatened to overwhelm her once again. She needed to decide if she was going to tell Jen this, and she needed to do so without the chance of Jen influencing her decision. She could stop here and now, keep the core of the issue hidden, but what good would it do? Jen and Tracey and all their other friends knew something was up, and Jen would piece it together eventually. Probably. Maybe. Actually, Jen might not figure it out at all, not with how twisted and corrupted her mind was. She was not a good person, so how could she understand how a good person thought?

Now that she knew part of the truth, though, she would keep coming after it until she had the full explanation, and maybe, just maybe, Luna could finally lance this wound in her heart and let it drain.

Her hand touched the ring again, the magic chasing her emotions away. It was now or later; might as well get it over with now. "I said you weren't hiding. You have your true nature on display for all the world to see. That isn't just your bad traits. It's your good traits, too, and while I didn't see the bad, I certainly saw the good.

"The fault for my falling in love with you I could lay at your feet. You tricked me, duped me, seduced me. I fell in love with a mask that was never real. Any of those could be true. But all those good traits I fell for at first are still there, and… and there's part of me that still loves you even now. I hate you, I'm afraid of you, but I love you too." She looked up to find Jen staring at her. "Tell me, Jen. How am I supposed to treat you when I don't even know how I feel about you?"

"I don't know."

"I don't, either. When I think maybe I overreacted, you do something horrible that frightens and disgusts me. When I'm sure you're a villain, you do something that warms my heart and makes me want you again.

"This should be a simple decision. My mum always taught me that evil was to be avoided and distrusted as soon as it showed its face. I hate what you do. But every time I try to cut you out of my life, I find myself coming back to your side."

"What do you want, Luna?" Jen's eyes were soft now, and she pulled her hand away from the ring to lay it on top of Luna's. "I don't deny that I'm a monster, but I'm also powerful. Tell me what you want for your peace of mind, and maybe I can give it to you."

She laughed mockingly. "What do I want? I want to go back to last Christmas. I want to never put that _bloody_ Diadem on and see the truth about you. I want you to turn away from all your crimes and become a good person so I don't feel guilty about loving you. Can your _power_ give me any of that?"

"Not directly, but with a little creative thinking? It's possible. Normal memory charms won't remove knowledge bequeathed to you by the Diadem's powers, but with blood magic I could seal the details away. You could look at me with it on and not recognize what you see." Jen shrugged and added, "But since the information is only sealed away rather than destroyed, I can't guarantee you wouldn't start having nightmares as you try to remember."

She shook her head. "No. My memories are what make me me. I don't want you mucking around with them, especially since I don't trust you not to make changes to make me more pliable to your desires. You wouldn't think twice about pressing any advantage as far as you could go with it. Any guilt you felt at all you would twist around into doing it for my own good, and that's if you felt guilty at all. That's just how you are."

"I wouldn't do that."

"How can I know that? Tell me the truth; have you modified my memories before? Or any of our friends'?" Jen frowned and tilted her head in thought, and Luna sighed. "That question should receive an immediate 'no', but you have to stop and think about it. _That_ is why I don't want you touching my mind."

"Fine. Since what you want is impossible, where do we go from here?"

Luna looked down. "I don't know."

"Is it impossible for us to be friends?" asked Jen in a strange voice, and she raised her head to stare at the other girl. "It feels odd to ask that, I know. You don't know how you feel about me, but before we were lovers we were friends. You admitted that you know my dark sides were always there. They won't go away; they are part of what makes _me_ me. That doesn't mean you have to focus on them, especially since they don't affect you. You aren't in danger from me. You never were. I do care about you, Luna, despite what you may think, and I don't want to hurt you."

"You want me to ignore all the evil you do. That's what you're asking?"

"In a word? Yes. Not for me, but for you." Jen pursed her lips for a long moment. "This is going to sound cold, but it's the truth. The people I have killed, the people I will kill in the future? They are beyond any help you can offer. All thinking about it does is hurt you for no good reason."

Luna pulled her hand away from Jen and the ring. "You say that like you think I can't do anything at all. I could always stop you."

"Be honest with yourself, Luna. Do you really think you could stop me? You wouldn't be in any danger, but do you think you can keep track of me every moment of every day?" Luna broke their staring match first and glared at the table. "No, you can't. But you know I don't kill just because I can. I'm not wasteful. When I kill someone, there's a—"

"Reason. Every kill has a purpose." She looked up. "I remember. That conversation is burned in my mind."

Jen nodded and reached out again. Luna did not pull her hand out of reach. "Then you understand this isn't about personal amusement or evil for the sake of evil. There are just some people who have to die. I'm not asking you to agree with what I do. If you want to keep hating it, fine. That's who you are. But if we try to be friends again, you need to understand that this is who I am. If that is too much for you? There's no point in trying."

Tears stung her eyes. "Why do you always give me choices where I don't like either option?"

"Welcome to my life."

Jen's hand was still wrapped around hers, and cautiously she pulled her left hand from where it was tangled in the Whibblestumper's fur and laid it on top. "I was being honest, you know. You were my best friend. I… I want that again. I do. Even with our friends around, I still feel alone."

"That's the thing about the girl who was your best friend. I'm still me. Like you said, I haven't changed at all. What you liked about me before is still here."

Sniffing her tears back, she squeezed Jen's hand.

_I'm sorry, Mummy._

* * *

**I had entirely too much fun with Hermione's scene,** _**waaaaay** _ **too much. Taking stuff we know to be true in canon and this series and making her parents misinterpret it into a crazy conspiracy theory being spouted out by someone who's been taken in a cult? Loved it!**

… **Does that make me a terrible person?**

**Speaking of being a terrible person, I'm well aware that the calming charm thing during Jen and Luna's conversation is a massive cop-out. I also don't care. There is no way they would have had any kind of meaningful discussion about Luna's personal revelations without either magic, alcohol, or drugs helping out. It's too touchy a subject.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	14. Propositions

**Been a while longer than I planned, but I wasn't sure how to go about this chapter… and I might have gotten a little distracted by the Final Fantasy 12 remaster. Whoops. Anyway, it's up now, obviously, otherwise you wouldn't be reading this note in the first place, and let's just get to the chapter so I can stop rambling, shall we?**

* * *

**Chapter 14  
** **Propositions**

Jen tied the bag the house-elf handed her to her belt, and giving him a nod of thanks she left the kitchens and made her way to the main doors. She did not expect her task to take her through lunch, but there was no way to know for sure. Searching for paths neglected for a thousand years would not be a simple or easy task, but it would give her something to do besides think.

And time away was exactly what she needed after yesterday's conversation with Luna. Without the calming charm suppressing her emotions, her thoughts had run rampant all night. Luna both loved and hated her? Adored her yet feared her? What was she supposed to say to something like that? Intellectually she supposed she understood the broad strokes, but she had a hard time wrapping her brain around the details of the younger girl's thought process.

"Jen!"

She turned on her heel and stared up at the second story landing. Sirius and Cissy? What were they doing here? "Order meeting?" she guessed once she climbed up to their level.

"That's the official excuse. Really we're just here for the free breakfast," Sirius added in a stage whisper. Beside him, her favorite aunt scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Want to join us afterwards?"

"I'd love to, but I ate early. I have something I want to check out sooner than later. Unless you want to come with me instead?" Not her original plan, but considering she had no clue the Death Eaters had set themselves up in Hogsmeade until Portia told her, she clearly needed more information on how the war was progressing. Who better to pump for details than a wizard who involved with both the Ministry and the Order?

"Now's not the best time—"

"Sirius, don't be an idiot." They both turned to look at Cissy, who stared back at their Head of House with her arms crossed. "The chances of Dumbledore having any useful information you have not already heard from the Aurors directly is slim to none. I'll represent you at the meeting, you go with Jen."

Sirius frowned lightly, but it was a frown of contemplation rather than disagreement. "Are you sure? We both know how much you dislike dealing with most – well, all, really – of the people there."

"I most certainly do dislike it, so don't waste my generosity. Go have fun with Jen. I'll deal with the real work."

"Far be it from me to pass up an opportunity to skive off. So," he asked while he looped an arm around her shoulders and guided her towards the front door, "what are we doing?"

The opportunity was too good to pass up, and she fought to keep the smile off her face.

"Hiking."

Sirius's spluttering and protests made for an amusing backdrop while they walked towards and around the Black Lake, which sadly was not named after them. If she was right, the stream that fed the lake cut through the nearby mountain ranges, which would make finding the old paths that much simpler. Maybe. Assuming they had not completely fallen apart in the intervening centuries.

"All right. You had your fun. Ha, ha. You weren't really planning to go hiking, were you?" She did not answer, and he glanced from her to the nearby stream and mountain in front of them. "Right?"

"A little exercise never killed anyone. You can always turn into Padfoot if you get too tired. A dog would probably be quieter, too."

"Don't bet on it."

There was plenty of scrub brush and undergrowth cluttering the water's path, though nothing she could not clear out with a few waves of her hands. "I thought it might offer a solution to the problem with the Floos. If the Death Eaters have started guessing where the fireplaces are, it's only a matter of time before they figure out what Hogwarts's new address out and come pouring out in force." She shrugged. "It would be nice to have somewhere else the Ministry forces could use as a staging point before that happens."

Sirius stared at her for several long moments before he asked, "How do you even know about that?"

"A little birdie told me," she answered with a small smirk. Now that the bushes and weeds were mostly out of the way, she stared up the slope along the riverbank. Sure enough, in thee distance there looked to be a natural pathway up the side of the mountain. "That isn't to say the birdie knew everything. Why there are Death Eaters waiting in Hogsmeade, for instance. I would have thought that would be the Ministry's first target."

"They are a concern, but not as much as you might think. They've been there for a couple of weeks, but from what our observers have noticed, they are nowhere close to breaking through the wards. The final decision was that so long as there are enough people here to fight them off should they somehow breach the gates, they could be left where they are. Any Death Eater stationed there is one that isn't off making trouble in the rest of the country." He shook his head. "Not a plan I agree with, but there you have it.

"My turn to ask a question. How did you even know this place existed? You're acting much too determined for this to be a random walk."

A thrust of her hand shattered the large chunks of boulder that had fallen to block the path just around the first bend, and a few waves turned the stone to liquid that resolidified once plastered against the walls. "A couple of years back, the Grey Lady gave me and Luna a brief history lesson about the Founders and the first days of Hogwarts. She mentioned that Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Gryffindor all found their way to the valley through a mountain path, and I was curious if it still existed. Following the river seemed like the logical place to start."

"It's been a while since I was in school, but it hasn't been that long," Sirius said in a doubtful voice. "The Grey Lady doesn't talk. Nearly Headless Nick talks, the Fat Friar talks, but the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady? Never."

She turned around to glance at him curiously. The Bloody Baron never talked? Ever? He sure was chatty with her, albeit only on the two occasions she had ever dealt with him. "It probably helps if they owe you a favor," she finally allowed.

"A favor? Jennifer Black, what did you do that made the Hogwarts ghosts owe you a _favor_?"

Jen had to think for a moment about how to answer. Did killing someone who was already dead count as murder? And where had she gone wrong in life that that question actually made sense? Even by her standards, that night had been a strange one. "They hired me to send Binns to the afterlife when Umbridge took over that class. They said it was the only way to save his soul from total oblivion, though I don't know how much I believe that."

"That was back in your fifth year." She nodded. What did that matter? "Why would the House ghosts go to a fifth-year and ask her to send another ghost on? Shouldn't they have asked, I don't know, a professor or Dumbledore or something?"

"Maybe they had and were refused. Maybe they weren't sure anyone else in the castle would know how. Maybe it can only be done by someone with a deep connection to Death. I have no idea, but it earned me a few favors, so I'm not complaining."

He was silent for several long moments while she cleared the next blockage. "A deep connection to Death, huh?" Sirius finally muttered. "You really believe in all this worshipping the old gods stuff, don't you?"

"As a priestess, I think I'm obligated to say yes," she replied in a dry voice.

"No, you're not. You could be a priestess because you felt you owed Elsie, or because it made you feel special, or—" He shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. What I meant was, you really, truly believe that the Powers exist, that they're fighting that never-ending war of theirs. You believe it so much that you dedicated years to learning a bunch of prayers or scriptures or whatever else priests do that you could have been doing something else more enjoyable. And…"

A long sigh preceded him sitting down on a rocky outcropping. "And out of any Power you could choose to worship, you think it's a good idea to worship _Death_. That's beyond just creepy, you know. It's the start of a horror novel. I just… I want to understand. Why? While you were staying with Elsie, okay, I can kind of see it, but why would you keep believing in all that once you were out?"

Jen looked him up and down for a short time before finding her own stone upon which to sit. She did not have to reach into his mind to see his honest earnestness. He did want to understand, though she knew he wanted to understand mostly so he could talk her out of it. As if service to the Dark Powers was something that could just be walked away from! Even were she not a black witch and really was just the priestess she claimed to be, she could not leave. Service to Death was service till death, and sometimes beyond even that.

What was it he had said that summer? That in his life he had seen nothing that needed a divine explanation? That was probably the best place to start, and fortunately she had plenty of stories on that score.

"You don't believe in the Powers because you've never seen evidence of their existence, isn't that what you said?" He nodded slowly. "It's just the opposite for me. When Elsie died, I heard the Baron's voice, felt his presence when he ushered her into the Labyrinth." Entirely true, though that he had manifested in the living world that day purely to kill the older witch was information Sirius really did not need to need. "He's called me to his realm in my dreams several times since. I've seen him, spoken to him face-to-face. To reject his existence is to doubt my own ears and eyes."

"But it was only in dreams. That could be all they were, you know. And with Elsie's death, well." He gave her a weak shrug. "You were young. You just lost the only person who ever took care of you. You were grieving. People see and hear odd things sometimes when they lose someone they care about."

"You're grasping at straws, Sirius. Not to mention, those were not the only times he has made his presence known. When Voldemort kidnapped me during the Triwizard Tournament, a cold wind that smelled of cigars shoved me out of the way of a Killing Curse. Another took away the pain of the Cruciatus Curse when I finally escaped, though it made me cry tears of blood. What would you call that but divine intervention?" That latter example stretched the truth a little bit as she remembered no such wind, but the Baron had told her he took away her pain, and she had cried blood shortly before the Ministry staff carried her from the final Task back to Hogwarts.

"I call it coincidence, maybe accidental magic."

"And I call your stubbornness excessive," she shot back. "Look, I understand. You consider yourself a Light wizard. You took up the Potters' and Dumbledore's opinions that witches and wizards are the pinnacle of existence and that beliefs in any higher powers are the delusional ravings of evil minds." Sirius grimaced at that description. "Fine, whatever. That's your choice. But I'm not you, and what I've seen in _my_ life says that the Powers are real, that they're active, and that Death has gone out of his way to protect me because I dedicated my life to him."

"I never said that."

"No, but your actions and your arguments say it for you. I love you dearly, Sirius; were it not for the difficulty in perpetuating the ruse," she admitted, "I would wish that we had used your blood in the adoption ritual rather than Bellatrix's. But I have my own history and my own beliefs. There is nothing you can say more persuasive than what I have experienced first-hand."

Her godfather said nothing in response to that, likely because he saw there was little chance for either of them to persuade each other from their respective beliefs, and soon they continued on their way. Perhaps half an hour passed before they reached a small, flat shelf of stone, at which point Sirius's stomach made its displeasure with all their activity known. "Fine, we can take a break," she said, rolling her eyes when the nearly-forty-year-old danced a happy jig.

Settling the bag between them, she looked down in surprise as she pulled out a half-dozen sandwiches, four bottles of Butterbeer, a flagon filled with ice-cold water, and a few pastries wrapped up in cheesecloth. "I could have sworn I asked for something light as a noon snack."

"You asked the elves, didn't you? Don't do that," Sirius said with a laugh. "Give them the chance to make something, and you'll wind up with enough food to feed five people before you realize it. Back when we were in school, we threw a few parties in the tower for no other reason than we asked the elves for food for the four of us and they gave us more than we knew what to do with."

While Sirius gorged himself on the food, Jen grabbed a sandwich and a bottle and walked around the clearing a few times, flicks of her fingers reshaping it and smoothing out the sharp edges. "What do you think?" she finally asked. "If the Floo system goes down, this isn't a bad place for people to Apparate in and out from, right?"

"It's a bit of a walk from here to the castle, thought I suppose that isn't a bad thing," he mumbled. "The issue is if we start using it and the Death Eaters find out, they could come here and have an easy way in."

"Just means we need to add a wall and gate at the edge of the ward line." So long as it was within the wards, Portia should be able to hold it shut just as she did the main gates between the school grounds and Hogsmeade.

"Moody will probably want to boobytrap it until nobody can step foot in it without getting blown up to kingdom come." Sirius's expression fell shortly after that, and he patted the stone next to him. "Jen, come sit down. We need to have a little talk."

"Whatever it was, I didn't do it."

"I'll ignore your guilty conscience this time," was his dry reply. "But no, this isn't anything you did. Talking about Moody reminded me about a conversation we had this summer. It was pretty early in the summer, too. First part of July, maybe. He told me he was planning on taking control of the Order away from Dumbledore and then putting all the pieces back together before we imploded. Voldemort taking over the Ministry shook things up, but I don't think it was enough to make him drop his plans, just postpone them for a while."

She gave him a bland smile. "That's nice." Why did he think she cared?

"It gets worse. He needed someone to rally the Order behind. There was a prophecy about Danny that he found out the wording of, and it talks about a child of people who _'thrice defied'_ Voldemort. Danny was the one everyone thought it was about, but with him gone, Moody thought he could convince you to fill the spot."

"One problem with that: the whole thrice defied thing. He'd have to explain how I fit that criteria—" Sirius's wince told her everything she needed to know, and she ground her teeth at the sudden fury that filled her. "Or does he know?"

"Dumbledore told him."

"That bloody— And he would have to reveal the truth about my parentage to the Order to convince them to follow him, wouldn't he?" Sirius opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "No. Won't happen. I will strangle him with his own intestines before I let him tell the whole world that secret."

"I know you don't like it, and I told him that." Holding his hands up, he continued, " _But_. Don't you think it's more important that they keep fighting against Voldemort? Whether you're seen as Bellatrix's daughter or Lily's doesn't matter if Voldemort hunts us all down."

She scoffed at that foolish question. "Or they could volunteer to help the Ministry. They already have an alternative."

"You know they won't do that. By and large, most of the people in the Order don't expect the Ministry to succeed, or they remember the more contentious decisions Bartemius Crouch made at the end of the last war and refuse to be party to them."

Ah, yes, Crouch's solution to the Death Eaters. Using lethal force, interrogating captured Death Eaters with Veritaserum, fighting as if the country were actually in the middle of a civil war. How awful. Her smile lit up with cruel humor. "If they won't side with the Ministry against Voldemort, then they don't really stand against the Dark, do they?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he pointed out. "If you stand against Voldemort, aren't you just as obligated to help the Order?"

She buffed her fingernails on her blouse. "Not really. Aside from you, Aunt Cissy, and Snape, I despise every member of the Order I've had the misfortune to meet. I wouldn't mind them imploding or being brutally slaughtered in the field. Either one's a net gain for the world as far as I'm concerned."

"And here I was telling Moody you hated Voldemort more than us."

 _Not really_. She pursed her lips and spent a moment considering how to phrase that just a little more diplomatically. "I stand against Voldemort because he kidnapped me, tortured me, and tried to kill me." And also because the Baron wanted his head on a platter. "I stand against Dumbledore because he bound my magic, set up the circumstances that led to basically everything bad that happened to me in my childhood, and is overall a pompous, self-righteous son of a bitch. To my eyes, the Death Eaters and the Order are both groups of sycophants who do whatever they are told to do by old men whom I dearly wish dead. They're identical in all the ways that matter."

"The Death Eaters torture and murder entire families! Anyone who isn't a Pureblood they want to see slaughtered!"

"And if the Order weren't so squeamish about getting their hands dirty, I expect they would do much the same to any dark witch they came across. Fanatics are fanatics, and they all view their own side as right and good." The Turk was certainly proof of how the Light wizards in Britain would behave if they were sufficiently pragmatic. "It might have escaped your notice, but while I'm not a Muggleborn or Halfblood, I _am_ a dark witch. Who do you think I see as the greater danger?"

Speaking of which, she made a mental note to send a letter to the ICW's examination department about scheduling her Dark Arts Proficiency exams for sometime in the winter rather than the summer. She just knew the longer things went on, the busier she would be and the less chance she would have to get away to become an internationally licensed dark witch.

"The Order wouldn't—!" Sirius took a deep breath. "And what about Ted and Dora? Or Tracey, your best friend? She's a Halfblood. What do you think would happen to them?"

"Are we speaking hypothetically?" He nodded, and she leaned back and hummed. "Simple answer: Ted and Dora are members of the House of Black, and Tracey and Justin, who's a Muggleborn, I would put formally under our protection. If this faceless group of Dark-aligned fanatics wanted to start a war with us, then we would do everything we could to crush them, including looking for allies of convenience we ordinarily would not affiliate with. I would not, however, join a group that wanted me dead or disenfranchised just as much as their enemies. All that would accomplish is escaping the noose by kneeling at the headsman's feet.

"But we do not live in a world of hypotheticals," she continued with a sigh. "I will still fight the Death Eaters because Voldemort needs to die. I will not help the Order because Dumbledore needs to die. It isn't a question of which will survive this war, but which will fall first."

Sirius scrubbed his face with his hands, a low groan coming from deep in his chest. "So that's your final answer?" he asked once he finally looked at her.

"That's my final answer. I don't help my mortal enemies."

* * *

Why was she cold?

That was the first hint Jen had that something was wrong. The second was that her sonar was missing. That generally meant one thing: she was in the Labyrinth. Cracking one eye open, she frowned at the sight of hard-packed earth laying under her head. Normally when she was pulled to the Baron's realm, she awoke on her feet, yet she was currently lying on her side and curled up in a ball. The third she noticed only when she pushed herself upright: rather than appearing without clothing as usual, she wore a simple white slip. "Okay, what's going on?"

"Variety is the spice of life, is it not?" asked a nasal voice. She turned her head to see a dark-skinned individual in an old-fashioned suit sitting behind her, his unnaturally long limbs folded close to his torso and reminding her faintly of a dead spider. He waved one arm, the end of the cigar glowing faintly. "If every chat was the same, I would get bored. Even little things can make existence more entertaining."

To think, just a couple of years ago, the idea that the Baron Samedi was entertaining himself with her would have terrified her, but now it was almost old hat. She rolled onto her other side. What could he want to discuss this time?

"We could always talk about how long it is taking you to deal with the Abomination. Less than ten months left to complete your task, else I will be displeased with your slothfulness."

"I'm working on it. He has an army I need to either distract or go through to get to him."

"Then you might want to work faster."

She sighed and dropped her head back onto the dirt. Was that the entire reason Death had pulled her to his realm, just to chastise her about how long killing Voldemort was taking? She doubted it. That just wasn't his habit. There was something else.

"At least your perceptiveness has not suffered like your work ethic." The Baron pulled his top hat lower. "Unfortunately, yesterday I escorted my Bridge through this place to the Gates."

She blinked. Those words all made sense individually, but she had no clue what he meant by stringing them together like that.

"Little Elspeth might have called her Maman Brigitte."

"Only a couple of times," Jen muttered. "She said Brigitte was a myth the Muggles believed in, just like the rest of the Ghede. There is only one Death, not a family of death gods."

"True, and yet the story of Maman Brigitte has basis in fact. There are ways for us to gain additional power in the land of the living, methods by which we can increase our influence. One of them is by creating a Bridge through whom our power leaks unseen into your world." A low chuckle came from him. "The best and strongest way to create a Bridge? Take one of our servants as a consort."

Oh. That raised all sorts of questions she was not sure she wanted the answers to. "How does the Bridge benefit from all this?"

Death took another deep puff of his cigar before blowing out a smoke ring. "That depends on the Bridge in question. There must be an even trade as per the rules of our Pact. The Bridge makes a request, and so long as it is within our power, we are obligated to grant it with no restrictions and no attempts to circumvent it or punish that servant afterwards for it. Some ask for rewards for themselves while others ask for a gift to be bound to their bloodline. Any number of things."

A gift bound to the bloodline. Pieces starting fitting together, slowly at first but faster and faster as the truth became astonishingly clear. Of all the Powers, the Baron had the greatest talent as a shapeshifter. The Blacks were well known to have an inherent talent for self-transfiguration. Sirius and James Potter had become Animagi before they sat their OWLs, even though it was a topic that was not seriously approached until the seventh year at Hogwarts, and that was not even getting into the topic of Metamorphmagi like Dora, nearly all of whom born in Britain had some degree of relationship to the Blacks. "How long ago…?"

"A good time ago, even by our standards. It was before I created the so-called Hallows; the brothers' great-grandparents had yet to be imagined, let alone conceived. That wizard of yours was not the first of your line to serve me. His father and grandmother had both done great works in my honor, and I chose to reward their faithfulness."

Try as she might, she could not help herself from wondering. A wizard, and a native Englishman. There was no reason that this wizard would agree to be the Baron's consort, nor would he even recognize this guise. So how had Death appeared to him?

Jen jerked back in surprise when without warning a woman's face was right in front of her. Hawk-yellow eyes sparkled with wicked laughter before the stranger sat back down. Tight leather hunting garb and tangled brown hair gave her a wild look, not helped by the shark's grin filled with filed teeth. "Does this answer your question?" she asked in a smoky voice.

"…Yes."

"Good. If you wondered, he was most appreciative of the opportunity, as he should be. Few men can boast that they have made love to the Morríghan." A smoldering gaze searched her face, and the wide grin softened into a smirk before Death purred, "And even fewer women."

Jen hastily averted her eyes. She was not going down that road. That road led to bad things.

That ancestor of hers had nice tastes, though.

Thankfully, there was a convenient distraction tied along with the idea of Death fiddling with her family's genetics. "There are rumors that there is a curse on our family line. We have a hard time bearing children, and some of our members die of natural causes at unusually early ages. Does that also have to do with what you did to empower us when my ancestor became your Bridge?"

"No change is without consequence," the Morríghan said with a shrug.

That was a yes if she ever heard one. She was still thinking on what to say in response when Death, suddenly once more in his Baron form, pulled his cigar out of his mouth and reached out towards her. "You know why I have told you this."

Oh, she knew, all right. It was terrifyingly obvious. "You want me to be your new Bridge."

"Despite your recent laziness, you have served me well in the last few years. You may consider it a reward for all your hard work."

"I see." A reward for service, and also because she was young with many, many years ahead of her. So long as nothing unfortunate happened, the Baron would not need to find a new Bridge for the next century at least. Jen eyed the cigar warily. She enjoyed the magics the Baron gave her, but this had all sorts of implications she was not comfortable with. As the Black Curse proved, this could all too easily cause more problems than the extra power solved. "May your servant have time to consider your offer in greater depth, Baron?"

The death-head frowned, and he retracted his arm. "You may, _ti kras jennès mwen_. We will speak again."

Jen opened her eyes to find herself staring at the ceiling of her dorm. Luna and Tracey were still sound asleep, no great surprise considering it was only two in the morning. Lucky them.

After that conversation, she doubted she would find sleep again tonight.

* * *

**If you haven't figured it out yet, I absolutely love writing Death.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	15. Breach

**Talon of Anthrax:** The "consort" offer is in part because the Baron Samedi (along with the rest of the Ghede), is not just the god of death in Voodoo, but also of sexuality. Yes, I needed a second to parse that contrast when I first learned about it, too. It's also related to the role in at least a few religions of a priestess as a god's consort, though I'm blanking on which those are at the moment.

 **London Knight:** Cute as Gaiman's Death is, I think she's a little too nice to be a Dark Power. If I had picked Death as a Light Power, though…

* * *

**Chapter 15  
** **Breach**

Albus rapped shortly on his old office's door and walked inside. Despite calling him here as though he were nothing but a naughty schoolboy, Griselda was not at her desk but instead staring out the window at the dreary October sky. "Take a seat, Mr. Dumbledore."

For all that the woman before him had been running the OWL exams when he was just a student, he had not been one for 127 years and would not tolerate being treated like one. Forcing a well-practiced smile on his face, he asked lightly, "Whatever is the matter, Griselda? You look tense."

"Tense." She turned around to look at him, her lips pressed tight in a severe line. "Why would I be tense, Dumbledore?"

"Many possible reasons. The war raging outside these gates that neither you nor Amelia can seem to do anything about. The stress of running a school. The paranoia of viewing everyone around you as an enemy." He spread his arms. "Any one of them would be enough to cause you to be tense."

She just glared at him for several long moments. "Or perhaps it has to do with the secret meetings you've had with the little group you're building up from the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, aided and abetted by Minerva and Pomona." He answered her accusation with a placid expression, and she slammed her hand on the desk. "Damn you, Dumbledore! You were told that you were not allowed to recruit students for your little private army!"

"I fail to see how providing extra tutoring to the students who ask for it is something for you to become upset about." Though he now wondered who had informed Griselda about those 'tutoring sessions'. Yes, they were made up of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, the houses to which young men and women of the Light gravitated towards, though as he was being reminded, others of a more violent and callous disposition somehow found their ways there as well. Yes, he was working with them on teamwork and fighting a superior enemy force by relying on each other, but that was also what he was working with them on during the regular classes. Yes, Minerva and Pomona had helped him. And yes, it was his hope that these students would continue to support the Light once this war was over, though the accusation that he was assembling an 'army' stung. His goals were nothing so nefarious; he just wanted to ensure the Light retook control of the country once Tom was defeated.

She stared at him with narrowed eyes. "I can't tell anymore," she said softly, "if you're evil or just insane. Not that it matters, I suppose."

Her left hand moved slowly towards her wand, and Albus felt his eyebrows rise slowly. Was Griselda planning on fighting him? Here and now? Really?

Before the elderly witch could make such a mistake, bells and whistles clattered in the tiny office and made both of them slap their hands over their ears. What in Merlin's name was that noise?!

He waved his wand quickly at the ceiling, and the Silencing Cham let them uncover their ears only to hear the same noise, albeit at a drastically lesser intensity, rising from the stairwell and yet still loud enough to be heard through the thick wooden door. "Christopher, what is that?" he demanded from one of the portraits of the school's former headmasters.

"Tis the wards, Albus!" the medieval wizard shouted, the paint fleeing his face to leave him pallid with fear. "An enemy force hath breached our defenses! Fight the villains at our gates!"

"Fawkes!" A ball of fire exploded into existence, and he caught the phoenix's tail feathers before his familiar could fully rematerialize. A wave of heat and fire swept over him, and he landed lightly on the ground and looked out at the battlefield.

The students were assembled in a loose arc around the gate to Hogsmeade, most screaming in terror while a few brave souls held the line. Spells of all colors leapt from the wands of the older Lions and Badgers, the young men and women proving his faith in them to be well founded. Not that they were the only ones defending their school. Over on the left side he could make out a few of the Ravenclaws, which was reassuring to see. The Ravens were traditionally too inwardly focused to care about good or evil, a trait that could be a relief or a frustration depending on the day, but even they could be motivated by self-preservation. Spotting a gap in their ranks, he hurried over only to stop once he was halfway there.

Three things were immediately apparent. First, these were not just any Ravenclaws; they were Black's allies. Second, it was clear they knew what they were doing if the fact they were using fire spells against the Inferii he could now make out through the empty space between their members. That was worrying because he knew no professor had taught them the best way to combat the walking dead, as proven by the fact that his students were using other spells to try to bring down the Inferii. Third, that was not a hole in their defenses.

It was just the minimum safe distance from the witch in the middle.

Black twirled and swung her hips to a song only she could hear, and as she waved her arms to the dance the Fire Lash Curses she held in each hand sliced through the air and the Inferii alike with devastating effect. Her friends were even helping, funneling the reanimated corpses as best they could so that she could cut them down. She was clearly the one who taught the other Ravenclaws how to fight these enemies, and how she knew he almost would prefer not to learn. Regardless, she was not his priority. Creating dozens of arrows of flame, he flung them into the Inferii still rushing the innocent students who had not thought to try burning their enemies alive. While his arrows were still in flight he conjured slabs of heavy stone and banished them at the archway where the gleaming gold gates once stood. The stones caught the Inferii ahead of them and crushed a few as they slammed into place and made an impenetrable wall. Now all he needed was to help the students destroy the rest of these abominations.

A loud roar came from beyond the wall, and the stones shook from something large and terrible trying to break through. What else did Tom have, Albus could not help but wonder. An erumpent? A troll? Another basilisk? The conjured stone shattered, and he staggered back a step when he saw what came through the new hole. The students gasped as they too recognized him. They all knew that face.

"Rubeus," he murmured in sorrow, "what have they done to you?"

The Dark witch among them ignored the familiarity of the man before them and dashed closer, hacking apart some of the lingering walking dead and then bringing both of her burning whips in an overhead swing to try to slice off the nearer arm of this massive Inferius. Hagrid was half giant, however, and therefore was far more magically resistant than all the other Inferii had been. Death had not changed that. Instead of cutting, the Fire Lash Curse instead wrapped around its forearm and held fast. Hagrid roared again and yanked his arm back, and unlike its cousin, this darker variant of the Flame Whip was substantial enough that his unnatural strength sent the girl flying towards him. She was still tumbling through the air when, in contrast to the gentle nature of the man who this once had been, he slammed his fist into her chest. The snapping of bone could be heard even where Albus stood, and the whips vanished while Black sailed away and slammed into the ground.

The chances of her surviving that were slim.

Albus could not decide if that was good news, a tragedy, or merely inconvenient, but he was not in a state to reflect on that. Staring into the half-rotted face of one of his closest friends, he forced his emotions down and locked them away as best he could. This was not the time for mourning, he told himself as he raised his wand. That would come later. The ground melted into quicksand beneath Hagrid's feet, and the grass grew as high as the trees and sprouted large thorns before bending to wrap around his arms and torso. Hagrid struggled as best he could, but without solid ground to brace himself against even a half-giant's strength was limited.

Fawkes fluttered down and perched himself on Albus's shoulder, and glancing over Hagrid's head he conjured more rock to replace what Hagrid had destroyed. Now that the gates were sealed yet again, he returned his attention to the foul work the Dark Arts had made of his friend. He stepped closer and looked into Hagrid's milky eyes. "I am sorry for what I have to do," he said. "I hope you will forgive me."

The phoenix crooned before hopping from his shoulder onto Hagrid's head. Feathers flickered into flame, and the righteous fire washed over the Inferius. Normally phoenix fire was anything but destructive, it was also a powerful purifier, and all that was left of the man now was flesh animated by magics of the foulest kind. The red and gold flames consumed Hagrid's remains as though they were nothing but dry leaves, and after only a dozen seconds at the very most all that was left was a pile of pure white ash.

Albus took his time vanishing the ashes and restoring the grass to how it had been before, his movements slow and solemn. Only once that was done did he look around again. There were some injuries, true, but the worst looked to be one sixth-year boy whose chest had been scratched and shoulder bitten. Even Black, despite his hopes, was somehow still among the living and not even that seriously injured if the way she was already sitting up in the middle of her friends was any indication.

Turning around, he found Griselda watching the young defenders and met her eyes with a raised brow. She could challenge him all she wanted. This, though? This was proof that for all she claimed otherwise, she still needed him and the Order if she wished to defend Hogwarts. She could not do so alone, and now she knew it beyond all doubts.

* * *

The golden gates of Hogwarts were gone, and in their place stood a thick wall of stone.

How frustrating that was, Voldemort did not think he could put into words. Instead he clicked his tongue and turned away from the aggravating sight. Sixty Inferii gone, and still the castle belonged to Dumbledore. He even sent in the Inferius he had created after killing Rubeus Hagrid, made specifically so that any Order members and even Dumbledore himself would hesitate to fight, and yet the old wizard had destroyed it without hesitation.

Had he underestimated Dumbledore's resolve, he wondered as he walked away. It looked as though he had.

"My lord," young Marcus Flint said, hesitantly walking closer as though terrified that one wrong word would be his last, "if you give us a bit more time, I am sure we can get around the gate—"

"Don't bother. It is a waste of resources." He had already tried that a few nights ago. The plan to send a small group of Inferii through the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night so they could cause havoc was a good one, but sadly that strategy had already been predicted and countered. When the Ministry retreated to Hogwarts, so had the Unspeakables. That was the only explanation he could come up with for why his Inferii dissolved as soon as they reached the edge of the wards, and neither the creatures who followed him nor even the Death Eaters themselves could pass through. He personally had been able to force his way in for several feet, but it had been challenge enough he had called the attempt off. He was not so arrogant to try taking Hogwarts all on his own even were he not fighting the wards with his every step.

The gates were the weak link in the wards. They were the designated entry and exit points, and just as a door would always be easier to breach than the wall around it, so too were the gates the sole place his army could break through. Now that he had solidified his grip over the populace, it was time to crush the remaining opposition, but if today were any indication, it would not be a simple as he initially expected.

If this were any other location, it would be less of a challenge. He knew that. No ward was unbreakable, no defense perfect. If nothing else, he could force some of his more disposable servants to try destabilizing the ward matrix and thereby cause a cascading failure. Between the millennium-old wards erected by the Founders, the additional defenses added haphazardly by headmasters throughout the centuries, and the reinforcements designed by the Unspeakables, there were undoubtedly enough points of intersection that bringing down one ward would collapse them all. Sadly, he had only a passing familiarity with curse-breaking, and he doubted many of his servants were better informed. It would be a matter of throwing enough bodies at the problem and hoping he got lucky before he depleted his forces.

Not to mention, a total failure like that had a better than zero chance of destroying the castle entirely, which was not his preferred option for dealing with his remaining enemies. It had been better than fifty years since he graduated Hogwarts, but despite himself he still held some sentimentality towards his alma mater. It had first been the refuge of Tom Riddle and then the birthplace of Voldemort; it was the closest thing he had to a home. He would rather not destroy it if he had any other options.

That reluctance was enough to stay his hand, but there were also strategic advantages to keeping Hogwarts intact. This castle had the strongest wards in Britain, possibly in all of Europe, particularly now that the Unspeakables had added to them. It was also the premier school in Britain, which meant that the best and brightest wizards went there for their education and would continue to do so even after his rule was complete. No foolish champion of the Light would dare challenge him if in doing so they threatened the children of the nation, and it would also give him the chance to oversee their indoctrination himself.

Besides, he thought with a faint smile, he _had_ applied for a teaching position before he struck out as a Dark Lord, and he had not done so just so he had the opportunity to hide the Diadem in the Come and Go Room. Twisting impressionable young minds to his whims was a heady power, and as the younger Slytherins when he was still in school could attest, he was a better than average tutor. He might actually have to teach a few classes personally just for fun. Probably an advanced class on the Dark Arts, but that would be what everyone would expect and not his only area of expertise. He was also a dab hand at Charms. The Dark Lord and king of Britain teaching first-years how to levitate feathers; that would be something to see!

Flint had been backing up cautiously for the last several seconds, but Voldemort dismissed his obvious terror and walked away in the direction of the rebuilt Three Broomsticks, which had become the de facto command center for this area. Timothy Nott was the one in charge of this front of the war if he remembered correctly, so he would have a quick word before returning to London to discuss a few changes to security for the Ministry building with Barty Crouch.

He could not yet take Hogwarts? Fine. He would simply have to bleed the resistance a while longer and try again.

* * *

Tracey stumbled to the table and plopped down before resting her cheek on the cool smooth wood. A small hand rubbed her back comfortingly, and across from her Padma asked knowingly, "Sick again?"

"Mm-hmm," Luna hummed. That was answer enough. For the last month, ever since the middle of September, an odd sickness had bounced around the school and even the refugees on the grounds. It never lasted long, a day or at most two, but for that time its victims were sluggish and weak. Tracey had been unlucky enough to be one of the first ones affected, and it had really knocked her down that first time. She had caught it a few times since, which seemed to be the pattern of this illness. Nobody was immune even if they had already suffered through it.

"This is getting ridiculous," sighed Padma. "Six years here and we've never seen anything like this, and now we can't get rid of it. You're even getting grey hairs!"

"I am not," she said, but her confidence wavered. "Am I?"

The Hindi girl waved her closer and picked out a small lock of hair from the side. "Right here. Just a couple of strands, but they're still there."

She groaned. She was too young to be turning grey already.

"Grey hair," muttered Jen, "fatigue, weakness, and no one ever develops immunity. It's effecting everyone, and it only started after the war really started."

"It's probably just a coincidence. The timing doesn't mean anything," Morag cut in.

"Maybe, maybe not. We've all caught this 'disease' at one time or another, right?" Everyone nodded. "Has anyone been having more wet dreams than usual?"

"Dear Merlin, Jen, you don't just ask stuff like that!" the Scottish girl said with a huff.

"Just answer the question."

Padma shook her head. "Not that it is any of your business, but we are all adults. Except Luna, technically." The blonde shrugged. "Erotic dreams are normal."

"And do they feature Italian men or women?"

Whatever the other Ravenclaws were going to say caught in their throats, and Padma scrutinized Jen more carefully. "That… is oddly specific."

"I know. I wasn't asking just for my own amusement. There is a point to this."

Padma and Morag shared a look first with each other, and then with Luna. Tracey, on the other hand, was too tired to care. "Recently, yeah. Didn't think much of it till now."

The other girls nodded their agreement, and Jen continued, "Do you get those dreams the night before you wake up sick?"

"What are you getting at, Jen?" Luna asked with a wary gaze.

Italians. Sex. Weakness. Tracey scowled. There was something right there in the back of her mind, a faint memory of a conversation she and Jen had years ago about that… Her eyes widened. "Incubus."

"Exactly," Jen said with a humorless smile. "I want to confirm it with Justin and Susan first, but I expect the reason we have all had similar dreams is because we are actually being attacked by Lilin. We aren't immune to this disease later on because it isn't a virus, it's our natural reaction to having monsters feed on our life force."

"But what are we actually going to do about it?" demanded Morag. "If they were coming here, it'd be one thing, but they're somehow hunting us in our dreams."

Jen gave her an airy shrug. "I suppose someone will have to deal with them."

"And by someone, you mean you." Padma was now watching Jen with outright suspicion. "You know where they are, don't you?"

"Know for a fact? No. I just have a very good suspicion."

"Stella Zabini." The four girls turned to look at Tracey in surprise. Annoying. Just because she was a Slytherin and not a Ravenclaw did not mean she was an idiot. She could figure things out, especially when she had more pieces to this puzzle than anyone but Jen. "You figured out Blaise was an incubus, and that means his mother in a succubus. Probably the only succubus in Britain before now, but she wouldn't be able to attack all of us all on her own. You think You-Know-Who brought them here, and they're staying with the only one of their kind who has somewhere to live."

"Blaise Zabini died our fourth year. Dumbledore said it was an accident, but it wasn't, was it?"

Jen smiled at Padma's question. "I did not kill Blaise Zabini, if that's what you're asking." They relaxed slightly, only for her to continue, "I _did_ set up the circumstances that probably led to his death, but I was not responsible for it. It was his own fault."

"You're going to have to explain that one," Morag said with a little more bite in her tone than normal. Then again, Jen had just admitted to arranging to have one of their classmates killed when she was only fourteen, so that was understandable. Tracey herself probably would have reacted more if just the following year Jen had not murdered her grandfather to save her from slavery to a marriage contract at best and death on her seventeenth birthday at worst.

Luna, interestingly enough, did not look surprised the way Morag and Padma did. She was just angry and disappointed.

"It's nothing too complicated. Not even that bad. I figured out he was an incubus, and I challenged him on it during the Yule Ball before forcing him to make a magical vow not to feed on any student. He must not have thought about it before trying to do that exact thing later in the year, and as a magical creature rather than a human, he did not survive losing his magic."

They stared in surprise at their friend as she returned to her breakfast. "I'm surprised you'd admit to that," Padma finally said.

"Once you and Tracey figured out what I was planning, it was obvious the cat was out of the bag. I could either reveal everything now or you'd call me on it tomorrow morning, and tomorrow you'd all be upset that I mislead you as well."

Morag swallowed noisily. "Tomorrow morning? You want us to go after a nest of succubi tonight?"

"' _Us'_?" Jen shook her head. "There is no 'us'. Padma had the right of it. _I_ am going to take care of it."

"We're supposed to fight as a group," Luna reminded the dark-haired girl.

Sadly, all that that statement did was earn a sigh. "We are working to be able to fight as a group in a battle. This? This won't be a pitched battle. It won't be a fair fight. It will be a matter of killing them before they know I'm there. It takes either a particular type of person or a lot of desensitization to go through with that, and none of you are the former nor do you have the latter." She flashed them a bright smile that was not at all appropriate considering the topic of conversation. "Thankfully, there are some benefits to being a monster's daughter."

* * *

Jen slipped between the foreign invaders, impressed despite herself with how they had set themselves up. Stella Zabini's manor had a small ballroom, but the horde of Lilin had converted it into something more along the lines of a combined massage parlor, dormitory, and porn stage. Mostly or totally naked men and women mixed and mingled, all of them chattering in Italian or in a few cases devolving into angry sex right then and there.

Riling themselves up for another night of feeding? She had no way to know.

Her eyes fell on the Lilin's host, and she made her way over. "Stella, Stella, Stella," she said lightly. "Didn't you remember what I told you back when I forced you to send your children to Italy? Did you think I had forgotten about you and the threat you pose to me and mine?" She leaned over and braced her hands on the chaise lounge so that her face was only a few inches away from the succubus's, and Zabini opened her eyes and looked at her.

"Now you have to die."

A small smile graced the woman's face, and she called out something to another monster in the room. Then Zabini stood up and walked off, her body passing through Jen's own as though the younger witch were not even there. Which, honestly, she wasn't. Standing up herself, Jen walked down the hall towards the nearby receiving room and took a look around. Two men standing guard, probably incubi but no way to know for sure, and a fireplace that was strangely the only Floo connection. She knew that for sure; she had looked for another already. This and teleportation were the only magical ways in and out of the house.

She smiled as her surroundings scattered to reveal the branches of the tree in which she was sitting. If the Lilin wanted to make themselves sitting ducks, that was fine by her. The colors swirling in the glass of her scrying mirror slowed to a stop, and she shrank the mirror and stuffed it in a small bag tied to her belt. She turned her eyes to the lights she could see in the distance, the exact same manor she had just explored, and jumped off the branch to shrink into a raven's shape. Time to get to work.

It was only a mile from her perch to Zabini's house, and when she approached the ground in front of the Floo room's window she transformed back into a person and slid the last few feet to a stop just under the windowsill. A quick peek to make sure she had not been seen, and she silenced the window and slid it open. The nearest guard she hit with a body-bind; his partner turned to see the reason for his sudden fall only to catch a jet of green death in the chest.

A hop, a tumble, and she was inside.

 _First, let's keep them from teleporting out_. Fire streamed from her fingers and twisted around itself to form a cluster of hieroglyphics, a specific rune script she had researched earlier that very day during her empty third and fourth periods. The fire descended and seared the runes into the wooden floors. This was not a true ward, sad to say; unlike wards, palings were not tied into the earth's natural magic currents and so were charged solely from the magic their creator first fed them. Good enough for short things, but they could be overpowered.

Levitating the paralyzed guard to her, she conjured a knife and slit his throat before dropping him onto the glyphs. Blood flowed into the burnt-out grooves, and a sickly red light shone from them. Good thing she was not planning on feeding her paling from her own magic.

Teleportation taken care of, she turned her attention to the fireplace. This would not need nearly as much effort to sabotage. The Floo worked because of a charm cast on the fireplace which was then fed power from the network itself. It was simple to set up and just as simple to destroy so long as she did not want to be careful about it. Reaching her metaphysical fingers into the weave of the spell, she started tugging and tearing, ripping out chunks until it was too shredded to hold itself together any longer. A flare of emerald flame heralded its death.

The door behind her opened, and she flung a Killing Curse before she had a chance to get a good look at the poor fool who had stumbled onto her work. The succubus fell to the ground, and she hastily pulled the body towards her and magicked the door closed again. This time she made sure it was securely locked.

That just left the three bodies to deal with.

She should leave them. She knew that. The bodies would be destroyed with the rest of the Lilin. It was the safe choice. But it was just such a _waste_. Lilin fed on the life force of humans. What kinds of blood magic could she perform with their heartblood, which was the most powerful source of blood and which even the Baron acknowledged as the 'last drops of liquid life'? She had used Blaise Zabini's to transfer Voldemort's soul jar from Hufflepuff's chalice to Blaise's own skull, but he had been a freshly awoken incubus. These, though, were full-grown Lilin who had preyed on humans for at least a couple of decades. Their heartblood should be so much more potent.

Time was against her; she needed to make a decision. Swinging her hands in rough arcs, Jen sliced through clothes and flesh before ripping the succubus's chest open. Her heart was torn out and a stasis charm slapped on it before it could leak its liquid prize all over the floor. She did the same to the two incubi, and then she was out the window with her hearts under her arm and running to the wardline.

She stuffed the hearts into the bag with her mirror and spewed blue and white flames from her hands just within the boundaries of the wards. Hovering a foot off the ground, she flew as fast as she could while making sure her cursed fire continued in an uninterrupted circle. Only once she was back at her starting point did she return to the ground, again outside the ring of fire.

Looking up at the house, she let herself smirk. "Burn."

Jen let go of the mental leash she held on her cursed fire and watched as it raced towards the manor, consuming the grass and soil in its path. She had derived this spell years ago from feeling Elsie conjure Fiendfyre, and while it was weakened so that she could control it, at the end of the day it was no less destructive. The fire reached the walls and crawled up to the roof and through the windows.

Shouts could soon be heard through the crackling of the flames.

It took maybe three minutes for the house to collapse under its own weight, and she concentrated her fire onto the ruins until not even ash remained. Once she forcibly extinguished her spell so that it would not spread and consume the entire countryside, she rose off the ground and spun, hurtling herself through space to reappear above Hogwarts. She took a moment to look down at the castle and feel pleased with herself. Everyone below her was safe now, from that angle of attack, anyway.

If that did not count as her good deed for the day, she didn't know what would.

* * *

**Yes, I am alive! I've just been busy. My second year of residency was supposed to be** _**easier** _ **than intern year, but in reality it's just a different kind of hard. Now I'm responsible for other residents' screw-ups in addition to my own.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	16. Favours and Force

**Axel Fones:** Last chapter was the end of the Lilin threat in Britain, yes. For now, anyway.

 **thelegendarysupernerd:** How was Jen okay after that hit? The amulet Wendell saw her making. There was a reason I had 'resilience' as one of the runes she used. She was okay-ish enough to remain conscious and heal herself. Still hurt like the dickens.

 **bissek:** The Order is still looking for Danny to an extent, but all their leads have long gone cold.

 **Lunar-Knight-316:** Yes, Jen's attack on the Lilin was a deliberate callback to Voldemort attacking the Potters in _Ascendant_. I'm not 100% positive, but the fact that so many people have said that Jen and my Voldemort are their favorite characters _probably_ isn't a good thing on my end.

**Late? Me? Nooooooooooooooookay, maybe. The last six weeks have been hellish, and next six don't look to be much better.**

* * *

**Chapter 16  
** **Favors and Force**

Hermione's eyes tracked Black as a hunter's would her prey, or perhaps as a police officer would a notorious criminal. She wanted to say that the latter was more accurate, but she would not delud— _lie_ to herself that her motives were pure. She knew they weren't. They had been in the past, but that was before Black made this personal.

Before the lying bitch had set her own parents against her.

"Why do we keep doing this?" whined Ron in her ear from where he huddled beside her beneath Danny's invisibility cloak. "She isn't going to do anything. All she does is spend time with her friends."

She rolled her eyes and tried her best to ignore her friend's complaining. Ron did not understand, and more importantly he did not try to understand. He had even suggested that she treat her parents' belief that she was insane as a chance to make a clean break with them! All his family was involved in the Wizarding World, but not everyone had that luxury, and despite her irritation at her mum and dad forcing their noses into matters they did not and could never understand, she did not want to lose them forever to a Dark witch's clutches. They were her _parents_ , and there was the principle of the matter too! There had to be a line in the sand past where Black knew her lies and manipulations would not be borne no matter what. If not here, then where?

Black said something to Patil and Luna, the words masked by the distance or perhaps by a charm of some kind, but whatever the cause, the girls nodded and started walking away. Without Black. Hands in her pockets, the evil witch casually strolled deeper into the castle.

Finally.

Ron caught onto her excitement but not the reason for it. "You aren't thinking of cursing her in the back or something, right?" he asked slowly.

"Of course not. I don't plan on getting in a fight with her at all." She tugged him along with her and followed Black down the hall. "What I'm going to do is catch her breaking the rules or maybe even the law if we're lucky." Her parents cared more about what the _Prophet_ and the Ministry said than their own daughter? Fine. She would show the world the truth about Black and rub it in their faces.

Not that Black was making it easy. Ever since she and Ron had started their impromptu stakeouts a few weeks back, Black had been utterly boring. If she did not know better, she might mistake the other girl for a regular student. Admittedly, she could not stalk Black all the time, but it was more often than one might think. They shared every class this year, just like the year before, and she and Ron could stalk her in the free periods between those classes. It meant spending the evenings and nights working harder, true, but that was a price Hermione was willing to pay. She knew her patience would be worth it, and here was the proof.

Six years of wandering the castle had taught them how to be sneaky yet still keep their feet out of each others' way, and Hermione forcibly stopped herself from noticing how much easier it was to do that when it was just two of them rather than their full trio. Black was oblivious to her tail, and after a couple of turns she stopped in front of an unmarked and unassuming door. The Dark witch looked down both ends of the corridor before she tapped it twice with her wand and muttered something too low for Hermione to pick out. The girl slipped inside, but luckily for them she neglected to close the door completely.

"Come on," she told Ron, "here's our chance."

She pulled her wand from her pocket and all but dragged Ron towards the door. Something clinked within; was Black brewing a potion of some kind? Instead of flinging the door open in triumph as she wanted to do, they widened the crack just enough that they could squeeze inside and catch her—

Huh?

The room was empty.

How was that possible? No one could Apparate into or out of Hogwarts, but there weren't any doors or even windows that Black could have used to leave, and that did not explain the sound, either. If Black had a Time Turner in her possession she could have gone back an hour without anyone the wiser, but the Time Turner Hermione used in her third year was not that loud, and she refused to believe that Black could casually reinvent time travel. But how else could the witch just vanish like that?

"Hey, Hermione?" Ron whispered. "You can unpetrify me now."

"Oh, she didn't petrify you," came a voice from behind them before Hermione could reply. Danny's cloak was pulled off their heads as Black opened the door all the way to walk around them before closing it firmly. The Potter family heirloom bundled up in her arms, Black conjured a stool and sat down to examine them with a bored expression. "I don't know about you, but this half-hearted stalking thing got old fast. If you wanted me to outclass and insult you that badly, you could have just asked."

Hermione bristled at that, but no matter how hard she tried to strain against her bonds she could not move. "How?" she finally forced out from between clenched teeth.

"Those who rely on their eyes can only lie to the eyes," Black said. Cryptic reply given, she ran her hands over the cloak. "What I'm more interested in is where you found a treasure such as this. There's no way Muggles could have gotten ahold of it, so that rules you out, Granger." Black looked at Ron more closely before muttering, "No, it can't be you, either, not if this is what I'm thinking of. Too many siblings. Unless your father is a cuckold?"

"What did you just call my dad?"

"Probably not even then. A father and two children. This has to be Potter's, not that either of them knew what they had. Still, who could have imagined all three pieces in Hogwarts at the same time?" Black shook her head and smiled. "I suppose I should thank you for returning what's mine."

"Yours? That belongs to Danny!"

Black asked in a condescending voice, "To Danny, or to the Potter family as a whole? I suspect it's the latter, not that it's really important anymore. Without a will, which I would bet a fortune he did not have, all of Danny's possessions go back to his parents. James only has one other child who can inherit, which effectively makes everything he owns mine."

"Danny's not dead," Ron snapped back. "He's still alive, and we'll get him back."

"He has spent four months in my mother's grasp at the very least, not counting whatever he would suffer at You-Know-Who's hands," she reminded them. "Either he is dead or he wishes he were. As his friends, you should hope for the first.

"But I fear we have gotten sidetracked. Why have you been following me?"

They held their tongues, and after a moment Black grew a nasty smile. It was the kind of smile that made Hermione wonder how in the world her parents ever could have fallen under her sway. "First you tried spreading rumors about me, now you're stalking me. How disappointed Wendell would be if he saw you now."

"You leave my mum and dad out of this!" she cried. "All of our parents, everyone we brought with us! People aren't your pawns to play with!"

"You really want to discuss which one of us treats other people as things?" Black asked with a raised eyebrow. "Funny. I'm pretty sure I'm the one treating your parents as people who can make their own decisions."

"You're just using them against me!"

Black laughed, and Hermione had never wanted to cause another person pain as much as she did now. "Me, me, me. Is that all there is to you, Granger? Your ego is out of control. I'm arrogant as sin, no arguments there, but even I know there is more the world than what I want. You can't see the truth of the world beyond how you think things should be. Is it any wonder your parents trust me more than they do you?" The other girl popped to her feet and grabbed Hermione's head between her hands. "You want to talk about games? I have no need for games to make your parents listen to me. All I need to do is give them the information they need to draw their own conclusions. Two conversations was all it took for them to see you for what you really are. You, on the other hand? You'd throw them in a cage for not jumping at your command if you thought you could get away with it.

"The irony is palpable," she hissed, purple eyes locked onto cinnamon. "Here I am, the Pureblooded daughter of a Dark House and of a Muggle-murdering monster, but it's the Muggleborn who treats her magicless parents as mere trained monkeys."

No she didn't! She trusted her parents to make their own decisions. They were intelligent individuals. She just did not trust their judgements about matters of which they had no understanding.

"But would they still have no understanding if you explained matters to them?" Black asked in a mocking voice. How…? "Or is that you are so tied to the idea that you have to be the smartest person in the room that you refuse to let your parents in where their experience and knowledge would eclipse your own? I personally think it's the latter. You need to feel superior, and if the only way to do so is to make sure the other party is at a disadvantage… Well, that's what they deserve for attempting to upstage you, right?

"So much for trusting them to make their own decisions."

"How did you know what I was thinking?" she whispered.

Black's shrug was unconvincingly nonchalant. "A little-known talent called Legilimency. I'd suggest you look it up, but it'd be a waste since you won't be able to act on that suggestion."

Her eyes widened, and she glanced over at Ron to see if he had also picked up that none-too-subtle threat. She knew Black was a murderer, and unfortunately here was the proof! To her horror, Ron was not looking at Black, at her, or at anything at all. He stared unseeing into the distance. She whipped her head to stare at their captor, but no words would come out.

"Don't worry your pretty little head, Hermione," cooed Black. "Easy as it would be to send you to meet the Dursleys, explaining away your disappearance would be more trouble than it's worth. If I have to keep you alive, though, what am I to do with you?" She pulled her hands away from Hermione's head and crossed them in thought. "I suppose I _could_ just make you forget all your suspicions about me and send you back to mummy and daddy. They would certainly thank me for 'convincing' you to change your ways. But then the people who already know about your beliefs would starting asking questions." With a frown, she added, "Not to mention, right now your parents are working to undermine Dumbledore's reputation as being someone Muggleborns and their families can trust. People will start to abandon him if even those he claims to protect the most are unified against him. They wouldn't be as eager to sabotage him if they had what they wanted; the carrot only works until they get it. So what to do with you?"

Black glanced away and stared at the wall, her expression shifting as she pondered. Eventually a spark returned to her eyes, and she looked back at Hermione. "It looks like it's your lucky day. Right now everything is headed the way I want it, so you get to keep thinking of me as your enemy."

Maybe it was good thing Black's spell kept her from speaking. Hermione was not sure what she would have blurted out if she had been free to comment on the stupidity of Black's plan.

"That's not to say everything will go back to the way it was," she added with a raised finger. "The fun's gone out of this game. Letting you stalk me any longer is a bother I don't want to deal with. Instead, I think I'll end it here."

Black conjured a marble column with a wave of her hand – not her wand, but her _hand_! – and flicked something off her index finger with her thumb. She then traced unusual symbols on the smooth stone, blood trailing her movements. When she lifted her hand, the half-dozen runes lifted off the column and swirled around a point in the middle. Faster and faster they moved, the ring of blood that was formed shrinking until Black caught it in midair and guided it onto her mouth like lipstick. The Dark witch trailed a hand over Hermione's cheek past her ear and gave her a cold smile. What was she—

A harsh yank of her hair to tilt her head back, and Black kissed her.

The other girl pulled back a second later, lips clean, and Hermione's eyes bugged out further as she felt something slip through parted lips and over her tongue. It did not taste like blood; it did not taste like anything. What it _felt_ like was a centipede crawling around inside her mouth. Sharp legs dug into the top of her mouth, then the bug became acid and she wished she could scream as she felt Black's curse corroding its way through her skull. Fingers dug deep into the center of her brain. Tears streamed down her face as she felt something shift, some part of her mind that she could no longer put a name to curl up and wither away.

It was the most violating experience she could imagine.

"That should do it, I think," Black said with a satisfied nod. "It is amazing what kind of havoc blood magic can wreak on the mind. You can already sense it, can't you? Or maybe more accurately can't sense it. Hate me all you like, Granger, but now I'd like to see you try to interfere in my affairs again. You literally won't be able to consider doing such a thing. Where you go, Weasley will follow. Two irritants out of my hair so I can stop wasting time and get back to work."

Black pressed one hand against Ron's forehead and another against her own. "And you know what the best part of this is? You won't even remember it. You investigated my 'secret room', found nothing, and that will be the end of that."

Hermione blinked and looked around the empty classroom with a frown. All that time spent following Black, and this was what they found: absolutely nothing. "Well, Ron, you were right," she sighed, picking up the invisibility cloak from where they had dropped it on the ground. "This was a waste of time."

* * *

**TERRORIST ATTACK AVERTED**

_Two nights ago at approximately three in the morning, a group of terrorists attempted to infiltrate the Ministry and prepare an ambush on its workers. The criminals were arrested by Ministry security and are currently being detained until such time as trials can be held._

" _It is disappointing to think that some people would resort to such underhanded attacks to protest the change in Ministerial leadership," said Corban Yaxley, director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "There will always be those who disagree with the decisions of the government, but this is not the way of civilized people. It is the behavior of uncouth Muggles and Mudbloods." …_

Jen balled up the newspaper and tossed it at a pile of rubbish already sitting on the street corner. "Idiots and incompetents," she hissed.

She was not honestly sure whom she was talking about just then. The fools who tried and failed to overthrow Voldemort's control of the Ministry were certainly one party. She had heard there were rumors about such a plan coming from the tent-city that had overtaken a good chunk of the Hogwarts grounds, but she had assumed those would die down soon enough. She had not expected anyone to act on them, and particularly nothing so blatant as this!

If this was the sort of brainless impulse the DMLE had dealt with during the first war, Jen could sympathize with Bones's demands that the Order stay the hell out of the way. The people who thought this a good idea were the sort who could not be counted on to serve as a distraction or even decent cannon fodder. It was, however, the kind of idealistic suicide Dumbledore would praise, and she hoped a few of the Order members had led the group. So long as they knew nothing of importance that would be extracted during their inevitable interrogations, losing them to the meat grinder of war was a net benefit to the human race.

And in the same vein of wastes of flesh, she wondered how many people would read this article and accept it, already forgetting that the Death Eaters had done the exact same thing not even four months ago. The only difference was that Voldemort's forces had succeeded. A glance around the slowly awakening shops showed that for all the initial panic after the hostile takeover, life was ever so slowly slipping back to normality here in Diagon Alley. How many would buy into the _Prophet_ 's lies? Too many.

But, she reminded herself, that was not necessarily a bad thing. Peace bred complacency. Complacency loosened lips. Loose lips spilled information she could use. She just needed to find those who heard all that information.

Pulling her hood up, she stood and wandered towards Gringotts and took the side road leading into Knockturn Alley, her false face melting away now that she was no longer in view of so many people. She needed to be recognizable to the people she planned to meet, but not to anyone else.

With dawn breaking over the horizon, the ladies of the night were departing from their street corners and their balconies so they could actually catch some sleep after their demanding activities. With robes covering their skimpy clothing, they mostly blended in with the other people wandering around at this unconscionable hour of the morning. They were no longer on their guard, and they were tired. It made them easy victims.

Jen's hand wrapped around one woman's shoulders and pulled her into a nearby side-street. The woman tried to scream, but no sound left her mouth. She dragged the prostitute around a small stack of crates and pressed her against the brick wall. "Good morning," she said with a wide smile.

Now she lifted the spell on the woman, who did not disappoint her. "Jen?" Abigail asked in surprise, pushing her dirty blonde hair out of her face. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know. A little of this, a little of that." Her smile grew wider. "More specifically, I was looking for you. I want you to do something for me."

Abigail laughed a little. "Little Jen's all grown up now, huh? But tough luck, hon, I'm done for the night. We can take a tumble tomorrow—"

"Lovely as you are, no, I don't need your sexual prowess. I need what comes after. How many Death Eaters do you entertain each night?" she asked with a tilt of her head.

That stole the humor from Abigail's face. "Jen, that's not something you ask. I stay out of that stuff. I just do what I'm paid to do."

"Good." She pulled out two gleaming gold galleons. "Then you'll do what I pay you to do. We both know men like to talk once they're done. I just want to hear what they tell you. Stuff that might be useful in dealing with their boss."

The whore's face paled beneath her makeup. "I told you, I don't care about all that. It's not safe to get involved."

"Oh, sweet Abigail. You heard who my mother is, right?" Abigail nodded. "And you remember Elsie. The woman who raised me and taught me _everything_ she knew." The woman's wide eyes grew more fearful, but she nodded again. "Now, with both those things firmly _stuck_ in your head…"

Jen leaned forward and brushed Abigail's earlobe with her lips.

"Just how _'safe'_ do you think it is to tell me no?"

A shudder ran through the woman's body, and her voice broke with tears. "Please, Jen, don't do this. They'll kill me."

She pulled back and brushed Abigail's cheek with the back of one hand. Had she pushed too far too fast? Perhaps. "If they haven't killed you yet, they won't. I'm honestly not asking for much. If one of them drops an interesting bit of pillow talk, I want to know about it. That's all."

"You've changed."

"Like you said, I'm all grown up," she answered flippantly, masking how that simple comment stung. "The kitty's lost her cuteness and now has claws and teeth. A galleon for every useful bit of information. Three if you find out something especially juicy." Her eyes narrowed, and she showed a bit of teeth. "That's the carrot. I assume I don't need to go into detail about the stick and what I'll do if you try to turn on me?"

Abigail shook her head hastily.

"Wonderful." Her expression softened, and she placed on hand gently on Abigail's shoulder while her other slipped the galleon's into the woman's pockets where they clinked with the rest of the night's profit. "A sign-on bonus. I don't want to hurt you, Abigail, but this is bigger than you. Bigger than me, too, for all that I have a part to play. Now go on and get some sleep. You've had a long night."

A soft nudge sent the woman scurrying out of the alley, and Jen sighed. Not how she wanted that conversation to go, but there it was. She probably had time to convince another informant or two before the streets were clear of prostitutes and she had to return to Hogwarts for classes.

But once she was done with the Knockturn Alley whores, it would time to turn to a different untapped resource. Voldemort would die if she had to call in every favor and deal owed to her to make it happen.

* * *

**Next story, I'm going to have Hermione as a co-protagonist again, promise. Not that it isn't fun making her unintentionally sound like a bigot, but she** _**is** _ **one of my favorite characters in the series. Part of the reason I decided to end the first scene how I did.**

**Meanwhile Jen gets to be in full creepy Dark Lady mode.**

**Hah, a line just came to mind that I really wish I could fit in to the first scene somewhere. "You know what the difference is between us, Granger? You tried to make your parents' decisions for them. I just gave them the right information to make them make the decision I wanted them to make."**

**Silently Watches out.**


	17. Honoured Guests

" **So what did Jen do to Hermione?":** I thought I had made that clearer, but maybe not if so many people are asking. *shrug* Jen's statement that Hermione wouldn't think about interfering in her affairs again? That was 100% literal. Hermione still hates Jen. She still thinks Jen is an evil monster. But no matter how much she badmouths Jen, she will never try to stop Jen from doing what she wants because the very idea of taking action against Jen _cannot exist in her mind_. Even if someone else suggests it, she will ignore it or blow it off.

And now you see the reason I'm actually kind of glad I don't have magic or telepathy or anything else that would let me play with people's minds like Play-Doh. Because this is the kind of stuff I come up with.

* * *

**Chapter 17  
** **Honored Guests**

Sirius pushed open the door to the library and sighed at the less than unexpected sight. "You know," he said as he leaned against the door frame, "much as I like to see you coming back home, I'm pretty sure it isn't the winter hols for another month yet."

"And that has stopped me before when?" Jen asked, her nose still stuck in the thick tome in front of her and her hand still scribbling notes on a sheet of parchment.

Fair point, and like he said, he wasn't that eager to kick up a fuss about it. He had never wanted to come home even on the holidays, but thankfully Jen's relationship with them was worlds better than his relationship with his parents. Becoming her kinda-sorta father figure when she wanted one had a couple of times even made him almost regret distressing his own parents the way he had, though that frame of mind always vanished once he reminded himself how much of a psychotic bitch his mother had been.

That still left the matter of _why_ she was home, though. She could have come to visit them, but were that the case she would not be holed up here alone. She could have come for peace and quiet, but that was a rare commodity around here and would remain so if he had anything to say about it. Considering she was in the library, though… He took another look at the book. "At least you aren't reading about dark magic where everyone can see it," he said with a sigh.

"Mmm." His eyebrows rose at that distinct lack of agreement. "Very few people know about my proficiency with the Dark Arts, true, but that won't always be the case. I don't expect it to last until the summer."

"Jen, what are you talking about?"

She snapped the book shut and looked at him. "Voldemort will die before I finish Hogwarts. How is irrelevant, and I will not handicap myself by avoiding dark magic when he refuses me the same courtesy. I have been discreet till now, but things are starting to look a little more desperate than they once did. I _will_ have to use something strange and disturbing, someone _will_ see it, and if it's all going to come out anyway I might as well make sure that when it does the circumstances are in my favor. That means dotting all my 'i's and crossing all my 't's."

Sirius blinked. Clearly he was missing something in the middle there because it sounded like she thought that made sense. "And just how does reading books here force circumstances in your favor?"

"Because it isn't the reading that's important," she answered with a smile. "I'm not reading for fun. I'm cramming. The ICW's Education Division was kind enough to reschedule my exam when I asked, so now I'm taking the Dark Arts Proficiency in December right at the start of the holidays. The sooner I take the exam, the sooner I get my license to curse."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought the Ministry refused to recognize the ICW's dark magic license." Which put him in a bit of a tough spot, if he were completely honest. On the one hand, he absolutely did not want Jen being sent to prison for any reason, and a license might let her argue the case that she knew exactly what she was doing and could do so safely, or at least as safe as that possibly could be. On the other, just because he could accept that his beloved goddaughter was a dark witch who could and would kill and maim in a fight did not mean she needed an excuse to use those kinds of spells whenever the mood struck her.

"They don't right this moment, but I expect they'll change their tune once it becomes public knowledge that their savior has been formally trained and evaluated in the subject."

"Okay, Jen, out with it." She pointed at herself innocently. "Yes, you. You learned politics from Cissy, who learned it from watching my grandfather Arcturus. Do you really think I wouldn't notice that you're hiding something? You have some agenda you're pushing. What is it?"

"Sirius, I don't need an ulterior motive for everything I do."

"You don't need one, and yet nine times out of ten you have one anyway."

She laughed at that, her eyes gleaming bright. "All right, all right, you caught me. Yes, I do have a small agenda with all this." Her humor faded. "Do you know what jumped out at me most when I started studying for the Competency? A lot of these 'Dark Arts' aren't actually dark magic. Difficult? Complicated? Old? Sure, there were some of each of those. And yes, there were curses and offensive magic. But so many of them sound like they were classified as Dark because they weren't strict wandwork." Her smile reappeared, cold and bitter this time. "It's funny, but it took explaining matters to one of the Muggles staying in the castle for it to click. True witchcraft is a dying art, ignored at best and condemned at worst. I want to bring it back."

"While that's not a bad goal"—to the point that he was seriously wondering whether there was a third motive she did not want him to know about, probably related to her religion—"is now really the best time?"

She blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

"We're in the middle of a war with people who are using dark magic to kill anyone who gets in their way. Everything is getting more polarized and extreme. Making a stand about even not-really-dark magic in this sort of environment… It sounds like a good strategy to push away people who might otherwise support you and paint a target on your back for no good reason."

"And that is why this is not only the best time to reveal my affinity, it is the only time," insisted Jen. "That polarization you're talking about? It won't go away on its own. It will continue to fester and breed discontent. Something extreme needs to happen for any kind of reconciliation, and right now I have just that sort of situation in my hands.

"Let's think about what happens if I wait. I defeat Voldemort without using my full repertoire by some stroke of luck. Time goes by; a year, five, ten, doesn't matter. I decide to show off a little bit of harmless 'dark magic', and suddenly I'm a Dark Lady making her opening move. The Ministry decries me, the DMLE hunts me, and the Wizengamot strikes the House of Black from their records. Our House loses all its reputation and power until I actually do overthrow the government in retaliation, and then I have to watch out for rebellions and assassinations for the rest of my life.

"Clearly, that road leads only to bad things," she said with a mocking bite to her voice. "Now let's think about what happens if I'm upfront with my abilities now. Some people are still going to make baseless accusations, but Bones sees that I'm using my powers in service of the Ministry. She doesn't like it, but she has bigger fish to fry. The Aurors know Dora, and since we are in the middle of a war they reserve judgement. With everyone forcing themselves to watch and wait so this war doesn't become even more complicated than it already is, they see that the majority of what I do doesn't match up with what they expect from an evil dark witch. That gives me an opening to explain the difference between what are _legally_ classified as the Dark Arts and what is really dark magic. There will still be some who kick up a fuss, but the rest? They will eventually start viewing my abilities as unusual but not necessarily evil." Her grin turned lazy like a cat's. "And of course then I kill Voldemort, and even as they celebrate my victory they know exactly what they're putting on a pedestal. If that isn't the best way to reintroduce witchcraft and dark magic to Britain, I don't know what is."

She stared into the distance at that darkly glittering future with an expectation that made Sirius rather uncomfortable. "Won't increasing the number of Dark wizards just make the next war come faster?"

"If that were the case, you'd expect the Continent to be in perpetual war since Grindelwald's fall, but that isn't the case. For all that Dumbledore wants to make this war about Dark and Light, it has always been about blood purity and prejudice. If anything, his efforts to reframe the situation have just made things worse. A subsection of the Dark Houses despise Muggles and Muggleborns while the majority don't care about them one way or another. The Light Houses stand against that view for understandable reasons, but instead of disparaging the blood purists for being racist they say it is because they are Dark witches stuck in the past. That angers the traditionalists who, instead of condemning the blood purists or at least standing out of the way, now get involved on the side of the blood purists because they were attacked for no good reason. Suddenly the folly of a few has become a great schism, tensions rise, both sides become more partisan, and a charismatic leader grabs the reins to one group and kicks off a bloody civil war." She shakes her head. "Give me a chance to restore some of our traditions, and once this war is over I think I might just make our world a better place."

* * *

Eddie Croft hung his coat in the hall and continued on into Simon's house. It was far from his first visit to the Buckners' home, no great surprise considering they had been partners since only a couple of years after he joined the Cardiff Police Department. And when Karen was making her pot roast? There was no way he would miss that.

The kitchen held a scene of familiar chaos. Simon sat at the head of the table, reading the day's paper before dinner since he did not have the chance to do so before he had to head out to work in the mornings. Karen was fluttering back and forth, adding the finishing touches to her dishes. Gretchen was busy fiddling with something, probably that game system she had gotten for her birthday a few months previously. The other girl at the table—

Eddie's eyebrows wrinkled. He had no idea who the teenager at the table was; Gretchen was Simon's only child. To further confuse matters, it looked like she was answering mail, but in her hands was not a pen or pencil but instead a quill. None of the Buckners were mentioning it, though, which was distinctly odd. Simon knew about magic because they were partners, but that was as far as the knowledge had spread. Neither Karen nor Gretchen had been told a thing about the Wizarding World, so why were they just ignoring this distinctly unusual behavior?

"Gretchen, Jen, it's time for dinner. Everything off the table."

"Okay, Mum."

"All right, Karen."

Karen turned to look at him and smiled. "Eddie, your timing is impeccable as always. I just finished getting it ready."

"You know I'm never late to dinner." He accepted the hug she gave him and whispered into her ear, "Who's the new kid?"

"Oh, have you two never met?" Karen asked with a surprised blink. "Eddie, this is Jen. She's a neighbor of ours. Jen, this is Eddie, Simon's partner on the force."

A neighbor? That was hard to believe. He had met all Simon and Karen's neighbors at one of the multiple block parties to which he had been invited over the years. Then again, he reminded himself as the teenager walked over with her hand outstretched, the Petersons had been talking about moving a few months back, so maybe she was just a new neighbor he hadn't been over to meet yet? It was far from impossible, and it would certainly explain why his friends treated her so familiarly.

Jen took his hand in his, and then her other hand flashed out to jab against the tattoo on his wrist. The mark sizzled, and he stared in a moment of incomprehension as the box faded away and the man-headed owl burned bright. He jerked his hand out of her grip and reached for his wand.

With a sharp whipping motion, his wand was out and pointed around him before confusion settled in his mind. This made no sense. He clearly remembered being approached by someone dangerous, but he did not see anyone untrustworthy. He again looked over everyone he could find. Simon, Karen, Gretchen, Mistress Jen. Those were the only people in the house that he could find.

"You can relax, Eddie. Everything's fine," his mistress told him in a soothing voice. "Sorry about the surprise, but the subterfuge was necessary to remove the block on your memories and the _Katoikidio Metatropi_ spell."

Ah, so that's what had happened. She had caught him off guard. "Think nothing of it."

The young woman smiled at him and waved her hand at the shocked-looking Karen and Gretchen, both of whom immediately calmed down and went back to what they were doing. "We'll be back in a couple of minutes, Karen. Just need to discuss something with Eddie." Guiding him out of the dining room, she stopped once they reached the spare bedroom Karen had converted into a home office for her stock trading. "I need help, Eddie, and you're probably the only person who can give it to me."

"I would do anything for you, Mistress, you know that."

Mistress Jen smiled at him, but nonetheless he could see something small and sad dancing behind her eyes. "Yes, you would, wouldn't you? All it takes is a bit of magic." A blink forced whatever it was he saw to disappear. "That doesn't matter. You've heard about Voldemort's return and his takeover of the Ministry of Magic, correct?"

He shook his head, and she spent a few minutes filling in the blanks for him. "As you can probably guess," she said once her briefing was done, "we are fighting from a position of weakness, and I don't like that. Don't like it one little bit. I need to even the odds, and that means taking away his support. The Death Eaters and the other volunteers or conscripts will require caution, but slaughtering the inhuman elements of his army? No one will raise a fuss if I make them disappear.

"I know he has harpies on his side, and while I haven't seen them first-hand I have also heard that he has a scourge of vampires and a few packs of werewolves behind him as well. Harpies and vampires both feed on humans for flesh or blood, and while werewolves do not have to, they are led by Fenrir Greyback, so they will almost certainly demand a fair share of fresh meat and children to change. Voldemort needs a good supply of humans to feed his troops, but he isn't stupid enough to take them all from other witches and wizards. He will want the public to remain complacent, and while the threat of throwing families to the literal wolves is a good deterrent to rebellious behavior, he can't follow through carelessly or some members of the public will rise up, feeling they have nothing left to lose.

"The only other place he could find enough feedstock for his creatures is the Muggle world. That would probably reassure the less devoted and rabid of his Death Eaters, too," she added with a thoughtful expression, "the ones who would start to worry about how closely he would stick to his promises. Hard to claim you're working for the betterment of the world when you're feeding all and sundry to subhuman monsters. Anyway, if he is letting his army feast on Muggles, he probably isn't spending too much time trying to cover it up.

"That's where you come in. I don't know how much information you can get from the rest of the country, but if you can at least find areas where there's been a rash of disappearances, it will give me somewhere to start looking for their nests. Harpies and vampires both would more likely hunt near their resting places first before searching farther afield."

"That's a good plan to start with," he said, "but what if there is a wide-area compulsion charm or something of the like that would keep those disappearances from being reported? Set up a single ward in the middle of the town or just near their nests, and nobody would mention it and he would not need to clean up."

"Good point," muttered Mistress Jen. "I hadn't even thought of that. Security without a heavy investment, the best of both worlds." She sighed and dropped her head into one hand. "And here I was, hoping I wouldn't have to search the whole damn country town by town."

"You still may not have to." She glanced up in relief. "Voldemort might not have set up such a spell, and even if he did, there are other avenues of investigation. The utility companies, for instance." At her confusion, he continued, "Utility companies keep close track of how much of their resources their customers use. Electricity, water, gas, cable; these all have to be tracked so bills can be sent out. If these monsters are indeed hunting within the same areas continuously, the number of people and therefore customers will drop—"

"And so will utilization," she finished for him. "That's brilliant, but how will you get that information? Within and around Cardiff I understand, but what about the rest of the country? I figured you would have access to missing person reports from wherever. Utility companies records would require warrants."

"They would, but I _am_ considered an expert in strange and unsolvable cases," he reminded her. "I do most of my work in Wales, but I have a few contacts in the Metropolitan Police I could call up for help."

"Or visit in person. You might have to use a little magic to make sure they help out. How would you feel about that if that were the case?" she asked with a raised brow.

The thought of using magic on his acquaintances sat heavy in his stomach, but there was no other answer he could give. "This is to stop a war and a madman who would see this country burn. They would understand the necessity were they able to be informed."

Mistress Jen watched him for a moment longer before nodding. "Very well, I leave that to your discretion. If you can convince them to help out without using any magic on them, so much the better, but I need this information."

"Understood."

Again she gave him a smile that did not reach her eyes. "That spell is so useful, and yet its aftereffects make it not worth the effort most of the time. You are a resource I would much rather not squander, Eddie Croft. When this is all over, I will come back to seal off the curse once more. It worked to stop the degradation of your mind so far, or at least slow it down. Hopefully these months with it active won't make that an impossible task."

Eddie was not sure just what she meant by that, but he dismissed it. If his mistress needed his help with whatever it was, she would command him. Until then, he would leave it in her hands. There was no one he trusted more.

"That is a matter for another day, though. I can smell Karen's roast all the way over here. Not the best use of mind control I can think of, but I certainly won't complain. Come, let's eat."

* * *

**Bad news: Yes, another short setup chapter. This chapter was written in the short stretches between night shift, a date, and failing at candymaking. Turkish Delight is hard.**

**Good news: Updates shouldn't take as long now, which means we can actually advance the plot. Working on the general inpatient floor and in the ICU was murder, but for the next several months I'm on elective rotations, which means I actually get the weekends off to do stuff.**

**You have** _**no** _ **idea how hard it was not to end the first scene with a play on "make America great again". It was almost painful.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	18. Wicked Proficiency

" **Snarky quotes":** I forced myself not to make any Trump jokes. You guys did it for me. You're all awesome. :-)

 **NecroJake:** I haven't decided what to do when this is over. I originally planned to write _Team Hellhound_ , a HP/RWBY crossover, but then Rooster Teeth decided they wanted to break all my assumptions about the background to pieces, and I'm not sure when or how to work that out. I have several other ideas in the wings, though; a very AU military scifi story, a Harry Potter/vaguely Final Fantasy crossover, and a couple of ideas for another Worm quest, though that would have to wait until my current quest is finished. Plus, you know, all the other story ideas on my profile page.

 **EEKtheCat:** Yes, this is the final book in the series. I don't think the British magical population could survive a fifth book. :D

 **jorenvanderark:** Theoretically a black mage could travel to the opposite hemisphere around the summer solstice to avoid being crippled during that time, and vice versa for white mages. Hunters like Priest, Menagerie, and the Turk do it all the time in the course of their missions. The reason that doesn't happen too often for those who have a life is that constantly having to travel internationally is much more obvious than "Oh, I have the bad luck to always come down with a terrible summer cold around this time. It sucks". Also, it would prompt rapid escalation as white mages fleeing the weakness that their winter solstice brings would do travel in the opposite direction and come down like a hammer on those black mages who couldn't or didn't leave.

 **WillItWork:** Abigail was someone I pulled in because I needed a Knockturn Alley prostitute, and there I had one already made. That is the great thing about the amount of world-building I do; not only does it make for a more interesting setting, I set up tons of little details that I can go back to and make it look like I actually know what I'm doing and had set this all up years in advance. That said, I _do_ engage in some actual planning and foreshadowing. Eddie Croft, for instance. When I came up with his history back in Black Princess Ascendant, I already intended for him to come back as a resource in this book.

* * *

**Chapter 18  
** **Wicked Proficiency**

"I didn't expect to find you up here."

Dora shrugged and waved the newcomer closer, and Jen leaned against the wall of the North Tower next to her. "Back when I was in school," she said once she was back in a comfortable slump, "I liked coming up here whenever I wanted to be by myself and think. Not a lot of privacy to do that in the Hufflepuff dorms. Drama with friends, drama with boys, drama from being caught in the buff with boys by Professor Sprout… again; anything and everything that was gnawing away at me." She looked up at the sky, and as they normally did her eyes located Orion. From there it was simple to find her old friends Perseus and Cetus. For the last couple of years she had also sought out two other constellations in particular: Canis Major, within it the brightest star in the sky, Sirius; and Andromeda, currently only partly visible.

It was amazing sometimes what a better relationship with her family she had developed ever since her baby cousin came into their lives.

"Explains how good the warming charm is, I suppose. I would have thought it too household-y for you to be capable of."

"Hush, you."

Jen snickered before nudging her with a shoulder. "So what kind of drama did you come out here to think about tonight?"

"What do you think? The war."

Her cousin fell silent, and after a moment she reached over to pull the younger girl into a hug. Partly comfort, partly solidarity, and partly to remind herself that her family was still all here. It was more than could be said for most, including several of her fellow Aurors. The Death Eaters had been clever about that. Since they had control of the Ministry building and therefore the Floo Network Authority and all the records inside that office, they were able to track down the addresses of all active DMLE employees and even those who were inactive but still listed. Most people had been quick enough to warn their immediate loved ones and get them to safety, but several had not thought about the more distant cousins or siblings or grandparents who were listed among their emergency contacts until it was too late. Those disappearances and almost certain deaths had been quiet, no Dark Mark floating above the house nor strange cloaked wizards appearing in front of the house before bringing it down on top of its occupants. Few people knew about those killings.

Worse, fewer and fewer cared.

Dora was not as close to her aunt Narcissa as Jen was, nor was she as trusting considering the older witch's continued prejudice towards her dad, so she understood why Sirius had said that the Order did not trust Narcissa's predictions about what would happen now that Voldemort had taken over the country. Unfortunately for everyone standing against him, she was right. Things were settling down, and with the immediate and obvious danger now past, the average witches on the street did not want to start things up again. If they opposed the new regime, they and their families would die. If they supported it, or at least did not stand against it? Everything would be fine.

"I expected things to be bad, but are they worse even than that?" Jen asked with a frown.

"It's pretty bad," she confirmed. "We're limited in who and where we can attack, for one. A bunch of the Death Eaters are running the show at the Ministry, but we can't attack them there because not only will we need it afterwards, there are always too many innocent people around too. We've hit a couple of Voldemort's training camps, but those are pretty much all we know about. The Dark creatures he has with him are easier targets from a public acceptance perspective, but finding them has been almost impossible."

"I… might have some answers for you on that point in the future," said Jen with a frown. Dora opened her mouth to demand more information, but Jen was already continuing. "Don't ask me for any details right now. I have some old friends working on it, but they haven't gotten back to me yet."

"What kind of 'old friends'?"

Jen shook her head. "The kind who don't talk to law enforcement. That's all I'm going to say on that subject. So acceptable targets are the main problem?"

"Not the main problem," she said after weighing the options in front of her. If Jen did not want to talk about what kind of underground contacts she had, pushing her would not do much to help matters. Dora could pry for more information later, if Jen's requests came back with anything. It did not change the fact that her cousin rubbing elbows with criminals in Knockturn Alley left her feeling uncomfortable. "No, where things are really becoming a problem is recruitment. The longer the war goes on, the fewer people are willing to fight for their country and instead will sit back and let a Dark Lord and his cronies run roughshod over them."

"Because everyone who is willing to stand up to him is already here?" Jen guessed.

"No. Well, that has something to do with it, yes, but not the point I was trying to make." Turning around, she pointed to the slab of stone that still stood where the golden gates to Hogsmeade once rested. "What do you see when you look at that?"

"I assume you don't want a cheeky answer like _'a bunch of rocks_ '?" Her cousin tapped her fingers on her crossed arms. "Desperation. Those used to be the gates that everyone would see if they wanted to enter the grounds. Thousands of people have come in and out through those gates while they were students. Now they're gone, replaced by ugly stone in order to plug up a hole in our defenses."

That was more insightful than she had honestly expected, and she nodded. "I expect there are a number of people who see the same thing. What others see, though? A sign that we are steadily losing. Not in the gate itself, but the fact that just outside that gate is Hogsmeade, still in Death Eater hands. Even if they haven't tried entering Hogwarts again, at least not that we know about, the fact remains that we can't get rid of the enemies just outside our own base of operations. That makes people scared, and scared people don't volunteer to help out. There have been rumors that there is a small but growing number who want to escape Hogwarts and try to blend back in with the rest of the population and pretend they never left."

"They think that will work?" asked Jen with a raised eyebrow. "More likely, one of their neighbors would just report them to the Death Eaters to curry a little favor."

"Wouldn't surprise me, but from what I have heard, they see it as a choice between possible capture and death out there versus a prolonged siege and certain defeat in here." She sighed. "I can't even blame them for it. Not really. Hogsmeade should not still be in Death Eater hands. It should be in ours. It's the most obvious target for us to start reclaiming our country. It's right bloody there."

"Then why not take it back?"

" _Politics_." Just the word left a bad taste in her mouth. "Somebody suggested early on that we move to the other side of Hogsmeade and smash the whole town down and trap all the Death Eaters there underneath the wreckage. The Unspeakables even had a trick where they could erect powerful wards over the town remotely, wards strong enough that they would be as effective as those over Hogwarts, but everything had to stay just the way it was after they cast the spell. The people who live in Hogsmeade didn't like hearing that there was a good chance their homes would be destroyed and that they wouldn't be able to live there until after the war was over. The fuss grew so big that Madam Bones had to scrap the idea just to prevent an uprising here on the grounds. To put normal wards over the town, the Unspeakables have to be in the town itself, and that means we still need to clear it out first."

"But to do so without destroying everything, you have to hunt down all the Death Eaters within, and the longer it takes to do that, the higher the chance they call for reinforcements. You'd end up being trapped in the middle and killed. You would need a large force if you wanted to do it quickly enough to get out, larger than just the Aurors." Dora nodded. "I'm sure Dumbledore has already suggested using the students he is training as extra wands."

"He didn't mention it to Scrimgeour or Bones that I'm aware of, but that idea has been floated out anyway. Nobody seriously wants to use kids as soldiers, though, and there are concerns about how effective they would be in the field." Dora tilted her head and met Jen's gaze. "You've been in Dumbledore's little project, and you've fought Voldemort and Death Eaters and that serial killer last year. How do you think they would do in a real fight?"

Not that it felt normal asking her much younger cousin to evaluate the combat skills of those who were supposed to be peers, but despite her discomfort the fact remained that Jen had been in more fights and more dangerous fights than the vast majority of seventeen-year-olds, and she was the one who had first-hand knowledge of what Dumbledore was doing. If Jen gave a good recommendation, Dora could bring up the suggestion with a little more seriousness, and the group could be officially evaluated.

Jen nibbled on her bottom lip. "I don't know. It galls me to say anything good about Dumbledore, but I can't deny that he is doing a decent job in training group tactics. That said, the occasional live fire exercise have only been against preprogrammed dummies. I glamoured them as Death Eaters for my team last time, and they were not prepared for cursing other human beings even though they suspected that it was my doing. I can't say for sure how the rest of my year would do against people who were trying to kill them or whether or not they would freeze at the wrong time. I'm leaning towards the latter, though."

"Yeah, that's what we expected." She sighed. That was another idea tossed in the rubbish bin.

Her cousin walked to the other side of the tower and stared in the direction of the town. "You need a large enough force to kill everyone there without having to destroy everything. A force that won't freeze up when people start cursing them and that won't hesitate and wonder if they should be capturing the Death Eaters alive instead."

"Jen, do you have a plan?" Any plan would be welcome at this point, no matter how disturbing it was that Jen could one, come up with a plan this quickly, and two, come up with a plan of such obvious lethality without the slightest hesitation.

"' _Plan'_ is far too generous a description. It's a shadow of an idea at the very most. Still…" Her voice trailed off before she turned around and shook her head. "If I come up with anything definite, I'll let you know. Give me a few days to work it over."

* * *

Jen walked into the ICW testing center in Paris, her face giving away not a hint of what she was feeling at the moment. This was not her preferred time or place to take her Dark Arts Proficiency exam. She would much rather be in Sofia, taking the test at her leisure and spending the days and nights not thus occupied having fun in the city with Viktor. He had been looking forward to her visit as well, so this change of plans was likely sitting poorly with him, too. There was nothing she could do about it, though. It was still better that she take care of her testing now, when there was still some time before everything back home inevitably went to hell, and due to these time constraints it was easier to schedule her exams in the main testing branch in France with many other early applicants rather than go all the way to Bulgaria.

Not to mention, it was the middle of the Quidditch season, and the Vultures apparently had a major rivalry with some team in Moscow they were scheduled to play against in the next couple of weeks, so Viktor's time would have been short anyway. She had learned more about international Quidditch through her occasional letters with him than she had ever wanted or needed to know.

Not the time for those concerns, though. Her focus right now needed to be on the Dark Arts alone.

She walked up to the registration desk and announced herself so she could fill out the appropriate forms. The wizard at the registration desk directed her to a side room, which to her surprise was already occupied by another adult wizard. He smiled at her when she walked in and stood. "Good morning," he said, his voice ringing slightly through the translation charm that had been applied to her earlier. "I am Professor Tirgari, one of the proctors for today. You are?"

"Jennifer Black."

"Mademoiselle Black, a pleasure. Please, sit. I need to talk to you for a minute before we begin." Her concern must have been obvious, because he smiled again and waved at the chair. "Nothing to be concerned about. We just want you to enter the exam with your eyes open."

"I'm listening," she told him once she was seated.

"I don't know how much you know about the history of the Dark Arts Proficiency," he began, "but it is the subject that has been most recently recognized and evaluated by the ICW. Interest in testing it climbed following the Grindelwald war, and two different groups were the driving force behind its recognition. The first were the wizards who had fought Grindelwald and the Knights of Walpurgis. They were understandably concerned about the number of wizards who had sided with Grindelwald and wanted to be better informed about who was learning the Dark Arts so that they could be watched and monitored. The second group were people like us, who had an interest in the Dark Arts for their own sakes and no longer wanted to be forced to learn in the shadows for fear of discrimination, not to mention not wanting to be associated with megalomaniacs like Grindelwald any more than was absolutely necessary. Between these two very different proponents, the Proficiency was created, and in addition to that the licensure component."

She nodded. This was not something she had known much of, but she failed to see why it was being brought up in this semi-personal setting.

"That said, not all the Dark Arts are created equal. Your practical components are registered as focusing on blood magic and Evocation. These two subjects, along with fleshcraft and domination magics, are considered to be highly similar to certain Black Arts, which as I'm sure you know are illegal throughout the civilized world and much of the uncivilized world as well."

Her eyes narrowed. "I submitted my choice of practical subjects several months ago. No one, _no one_ , said there was any problem with the fields I had chosen or that I could not be evaluated in them."

"Mademoiselle, you misunderstand. The ICW does not prevent people from learning these arts or being evaluated. The focus I chose for my own Mastery was blood magic, so I can assure you of this without any doubt." The proctor shook his bald head. "No, I bring this up for a different reason. Due to this unfounded prejudice – oh, yes, I know exactly what it is," he added to her surprised blink, "against our fields of study, the licensure committee and the ICW as a whole keep a much closer eye on those individuals who are recorded as using them in the practical exam. We can't facilitate people becoming black mages, after all. Some students, upon hearing this, are fine with it and continue on. Others do not take the news of such increased surveillance well.

"While I would be more than happy to test you in blood magic, it is our policy to inform anyone who plans to be examined in one of these four fields of what they will face in the future so they can make a choice." He raised one hand. "If you wish, you can leave now. You have not started any part of the exam, and therefore we can strike out your registration without anyone paying too much attention. You will be deemed an absentee and no marks will be assigned. This carries no penalty other than the fee you have already paid to take the exam, and you can reschedule at any time in the future and select different areas of study for your practical." His other hand rose, completing his portrayal of a scale. "Or you can continue on, take the exam, and regardless of pass or failure the ICW will have its eye on you.

"It is your decision. I only ask that you think carefully before making it."

Well, well. That was an unexpected and unpleasant bit of information. Truthfully, though, she did not need time to consider whether to continue or not. She was already careful to keep the world from discovering that she worked with black magic, and since Britain did not currently recognize the ICW's Dark Arts licensure – not yet, anyway – she doubted anyone would keep that close an eye on her so long as she was in her home country. "Thank you for the warning, but I will still take the exam. I've come too far already to stop now."

"Very well. If you step through that door"—he waved at the other end of the room—"the written portion of the exam will begin in a few minutes. I look forward to evaluating your knowledge of blood magic this afternoon."

The written exam, Jen decided once she had set down her quill and left the room several hours later, had not been so bad. Most of the questions were rote recall, and the entire section on magical ethics had been amusingly ironic even if, thanks to Tirgari's warning, she understood the reason for such an inclusion, but the last several questions where she had to explain in depth some obscure aspect of a particular spell or process had been thought-provoking and actually rather enjoyable. Not enough that she wanted to write essays all day every day, but if this was the type of mental exercises that were expected of the Unspeakables, she might need to give more consideration to the none-too-subtle hint Croaker had dropped a couple of years ago about pursuing a Mastery in the Dark Arts.

That was over and done with, though, so now it was time for the fun part of the day. The practical exam.

Another student was already with Tirgari, so instead she was shuffled over to a tall Swedish woman who appeared less than pleased to be there. "I am Master Andersson," she said without preamble. "I will test you in summoning and Evocation. Do you have any questions?"

"Not right now." Not one to mince words, was she? Perhaps it was a poor understanding of French. Translation charms interfered with each other and had a reputation for producing odd phrasings and circumlocutions on occasion, so it would make sense that the examiners could not use them when there were students from multiple countries speaking multiple languages in attendance, else these practicals could become very confusing and very dangerous in short order.

"Good. Three tasks. You must pass all of them to pass my portion. First, I want a creature to tend my father's farm for him. What time within the next week would be best to summon a nisse?"

A what? Jen had to rack her brain about that one for a moment before recalling the description, a creature known best in the Norse cultures that performed functions similar to house-elves. She had not realized before that they had to be summoned. She was just glad she had enough information to work with. Laying on the table in front of her were star charts for the previous night, and she pulled them closer to start on the necessary astrologic calculations. As an Evoked creature that was more or less a household spirit, her best guess would be that its pride would be invested in privacy while its emotional satisfaction would be related to service. From there, it was relatively simple to identify at what times the sun would be in the fourth house while the moon was in the sixth house and sort through the other planets to narrow her search down. "Three days from now, at around six in the evening."

"You are sure?"

That question almost tempted her to go through the charts again, but she pushed the urge away. She was right. She knew it. Admittedly, there was another time in five days that could also work— No! No second guessing herself. "I'm sure."

"If you say so. What creature could be most easily and safely summoned right now? You may explain yourself as you go."

She smiled. While she was working her previously calculations, she had spent an extra minute or two determining where each celestial body would be at this time. She would need the positions anyway for any Evocation that would need to be done, so it had sounded like a good investment. Lo and behold, she needed them after all. Transcribing the relevant numbers down on a fresh sheet of parchment, she felt her expression slip off her face.

This was an incredibly unbalanced chart, a full half of the celestial bodies all in the sixth house, the house of service. Such an imbalance eliminated the vast majority of creatures. "Mercury, Luna, Sol, Venus, Jupiter. Communication, emotional satisfaction, pride and purpose, affection, and generosity?" That was no help at all. She looked again at the other points for a little help and noticed something odd. "Pluto in the eighth house. Both of them are associated with transformation, death and rebirth, and control. A possessive spirit?" That sounded right, but the other signs all indicated benevolence, and there were exceedingly few spirits that were benevolent and possessed people. In fact, the only one she could recall was… "An ibbur, a possessive spirit best described in Judaic records. Benevolent, generally appears with the purpose of performing an important task for society or the possessed individual, then departs when their task is complete."

Andersson nodded and made a note on her clipboard. Unfortunately she was too far away for Jen's sonar to pick up any hint of what that note said. "Summon a creature. It cannot be an ibbur. Objects to sacrifice are in the box by your feet. The shackles are behind me."

Summon a creature. That was going to be difficult considering how imbalanced the planets were at the moment. She tilted her head as a thought came to her. That might actually be the point. Summon a creature at a suboptimal time, and not only would she prove her competence in Evocation, she would also have to demonstrate her ability to dominate the creature she summoned if needed.

She was starting to think she should have spent more time actually performing Evocation beyond the pooka she conjured up to hunt down the Turk and a couple of imps for practice. She had intentionally not summoned anything she could not put down without relying on the domination seal, so she had never had to use it.

What to do, what to do? It had to be something easily controlled, but a creature that was too docile would likely not net her a good score. Her eyes landed on the scar on her wrist as she rooted through the box, and a thought came to her. It was cruel, it was dangerous, and it would be an oh so satisfying rehearsal for what came later.

Jen stood straight, a single silver coin in her hand. As she walked over to the ringed diagram in which she would be summoning the creature, she conjured a small knife in her pocket and pricked the ball of her left thumb to smear a tiny amount of blood over one face of the coin. Vanishing the knife and healing her thumb, she took a piece of chalk and sketched out a minimalistic knot within the circle. She then looked over at the proctor. "Are you ready?"

"Do you have everything you need?" Andersson asked pointedly, not staring at her right hand but clearly wanting to. Her dominant hand was where she would wear the dominion seal so as to force control over whatever she pulled from its native plane. Without it? Normally things would get messy.

"I won't need to dominate this creature." The proctor shrugged, and she tossed the bloody coin into the circle. She suppressed the smirk and recited her pathetically short aria.

" _Symbol of that which preys on us,  
_ _Shadowed canine of the darkness.  
_ _By Pluto, Neptune, Uranus  
_ _To me I bind you in service."_

By the first line, Andersson looked nervous; by the second was truly frightened. For good reason, too. There were only a couple of creatures Jen could call upon with tha description, and none of them could be bound solely by invoking the farthest planets. Especially when those planets were in inappropriate houses for the temperament of the beasts in question. This was borderline suicidal, and if she screwed up, she would not be the only one who died today.

An explosion of golden light and deep shadow heralded the summoning, and Andersson dropped her clipboard to lift her left palm with the cuneiform-like symbol painted on it. Jen was not surprised that the proctor was ready to stop anything that escaped the shackles. That did not stop Andersson from staring.

Jen lowered herself to one knee to put herself at eye-level with the monster. It looked as though it could not decide whether it was a great wolf or a small bear, but no matter the species it was a fearsome specimen. Inky black fur stuck out in uneven tufts, and long sharp teeth filled its jaws. It stared at her with hateful red eyes that were each the size of her palm. A dripping tongue lolled out of its mouth, and its deep rumble caught the attention of everyone nearby.

Sirius thought his Animagus form was a Grim? Ha! _This_ was a Grim.

The hellhound turned its head to look at all the potential prey on display. Before it could terrify anyone into a heart attack, she whistled loudly to regain its attention. She then gave it a smirk. "Heel."

It bent down to lick up the blood on the coin, though not the coin itself, and bounded at her. Andersson had let her hand drop as she sized up the monstrosity, and in the instant she needed to raise it again the dreadful death omen was already in Jen's face.

The hellhound's hindquarters dropped to the ground when her fingers dug into the thick fur behind one ear.

Andersson gaped before finding her words with a splutter. "How? Why?"

It was hard to hold back her laughter, but somehow Jen managed it. Instead she continued scratching the hellhound's ear. "I don't know how much you know about the current political situation in Britain, but things are a mess right now. I decided that if I were attacked, it would be nice to be able to summon something that would make my attackers disappear."

"…And you chose a hellhound."

"Of course," she replied with an innocent smile. "Whoever didn't immediately die of fright or run away as fast as they could would be too scared to do anything before they were eaten. Made perfect sense to me. Doesn't do much good to summon a hellhound if they won't listen, though, and in the kind of situation I described I wouldn't have the time to create a domination seal, so I had to get them used to obeying me without one. Wasn't too hard, to be honest. Summon them enough times, and they eventually stopped trying to kill me on sight."

Lies, all of it. The only reason she had tried something this foolhardy was that she knew she was safe. The very first time she had attempted Evocation, the Baron had sent Elsie with a message for her stating that she had been given authority over all the creatures within the Labyrinth. Creatures such as the nightmare, the camazotz… and the hellhound.

Andersson soon enough settled her nerves and requested the hellhound be dismissed. That was the third and final task for that portion of the exam, and Jen was hard-pressed not to swagger as she walked away. If she did not pass that with flying colors, someone was going to pay. She was still snickering occasionally several minutes later when it was time for her blood magic evaluation.

The second test was similar to the first, two semi-theoretical problems where she had to draw a runic circle in ink rather than blood and then a true practical application. For this exam, such an arrangement made sense considering that every piece of blood magic whittled away at the caster's life-force, so the ICW presumably wanted to avoid shortening the examinees' lifespans unnecessarily even if each individual spell did not have much of an effect on its own.

She really needed to check if a _poupe lavi_ would let her avoiding being so drained, she decided once again. It was something she had forgotten to test over the past year, yet it was something she had to find out.

But that was a matter for another day. For now, she watched Tirgari take a penknife and carefully stab it into a mouse's back. "Now, heal our furry friend."

This was not the kind of task she had expected, though it was certainly possible to heal with blood magic. This branch of the Dark Arts was all about manipulation of the mind and the body, after all. Curious about just what he had injured, she laid her fingers on the mouse to get a better look and tilted her head when it tried to scurry away only to wind up dragging its hind legs behind it. "You severed the spinal cord. Why that specific injury?"

"What do you know about healing spinal damage?"

She gave him a slow blink. She actually knew quite a bit about that, though it had not been relevant since she healed Ingrid Eberhardt. "Nerves channel magic through the body, making it difficult to heal them. The spinal cord is almost impossible to fix, though almost is the key word here. There was a girl in the most recent Triwizard Tournament a few years ago who had her spinal column destroyed, and she got better. No one knows how."

"Yes, I heard about that shortly after it happened," Tirgari said with a nod. "The most likely answer as to how it was accomplished is that someone with a moderate proficiency or better with blood magic decided to help and asked everyone who knew to keep it a secret. There are very, very few other ways that could have happened."

Holding back her grin was difficult, but she managed it. Blood magic, or somebody who would remain anonymous had flooded Eberhardt's spinal cord with unimaginable amounts of magic to brute force the healing process. Ironically, it was doing such a thing that had earned her the German girl's Dark Arts notes, which in turn led her to take the Competency and now the Proficiency where she was being told of an easier way to do it. Funny how things worked out sometimes.

With a shrug, she slit a finger and started drawing with one hand while the other held the mouse still. This test was not as exciting as her last one, but part of that likely had to do with the fact that she had used blood magic already for bigger and better things. It was hard to get excited over healing a mouse when she had already restored her ability to have children without the miscarriage rate Black women normally had to deal with and performed immoral psychic surgery on one of her enemies.

 _Only a little longer_ , she reminded herself. Heal the mouse, leave Paris, and then she could have a bit of fun.

* * *

A cruel, nasty smile graced Jen's lips as she looked down at the sleepy village below her. None of the figures milling below had any clue that she was there. None of them were worried. They thought they were safe and secure and prepared for anything.

Snapping her pocket watch closed, she turned around and walked down off the top of the hill with a cold laugh.

"Time to show those little shits what dark magic is really capable of," she told no one in particular. A flick of each wrist sprayed fire that burned a veve depicting a cross and coffin onto the ground before her. Reaching to the back of her belt, she pulled out the bone dagger she had snuck into and then out of France. Its tip sliced through the scar on her wrist with the same ease it had possessed since she created it, and she watched the ruby stream patter onto the blacked grass.

Who needed an Evocation aria when she had something so much better?

Clearing her throat, she called out, "The chosen of the Gatekeeper calls you forth. It's dinner time, boys."

Gold and black filled her vision.

* * *

**Hopefully this is the last time I have to deal with planets and houses. Astrology is complicated and doesn't make any sense whatsoever. Big surprise there, I know. And yet somehow I'm masochistic enough to go into excruciating detail about it anyway.**

**I need help.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	19. A Villain Unmasked

**judotroy:** There are two reasons Voldemort is not going to accuse Jen of being a black witch. First, and the most obvious, is the same reason that there's no point in trying to cut off Voldemort's support by telling the Death Eaters that he's a Halfblood. Who in the world would believe him besides his own followers, _if them_? The Ministry? Pfffft, that's just a lie he came up with because this girl managed to wreck his shit, and they wouldn't believe him if he said the sky was blue and water was wet anyway. The Order? Dumbledore might consider the possibility, but the fact remains that this is still probably a lie considering the source, and while the rest of the Order doesn't like Jen or are afraid of her, this is a step farther than many of them would be willing to take, and they won't seriously discuss the matter because it's still James and Lily's estranged daughter they're talking about.

Second, it opens up the possibility for someone to hurl the same accusation at him, and he would much rather not have to deal with the ICW pulling Aurors from its allied nations to come after him. He's going to need to explain away the zombies as it is. Once he takes over Britain, he will want some time to breathe and fully consolidate his power base, and he can't do that if he's fighting yet another war right on the heels of the first.

* * *

**Chapter 19  
** **A Villain Unmasked**

A loud whistle pierced the air.

Dora watched with quickly rising nervousness as the Unspeakables cast spell after spell at a model of Hogsmeade, measured and created with scrying they had performed over the course of the day. This was it. The plan was moving forwards.

Jen had better not put herself in danger out there.

When her cousin had come up to her late the night before, claiming to have a plan to deal with the Death Eaters, Dora had already known she was not going to like it. Sure enough, she didn't. The plan was deceptively simple: at the blow of a whistle, the Unspeakables would erect jinxes and palings against Apparation, portkeys, Floo, brooms, magic carpets, and any and all other means of transportation that could possibly be warded against, and then the Aurors, Hit Wizards, and any other volunteers who wanted to join in would assemble on the other side of the slab of stone that plugged up the gates between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts's grounds. Despite the numbers Jen had asked for, they were not supposed to be the main attackers. They were the backup, and they were only to enter the field if Jen blew another single whistle. Otherwise they were to wait for a trio of whistles, which meant it was safe to vanish the stone and erect true wards within Hogsmeade to keep the Death Eaters from immediately moving back in.

To say that this had been a hard sell to Madam Bones and Scrimgeour was a severe understatement, not helped by the fact that Jen had refused to reveal just how she planned to 'deal with' the Death Eaters. The cheeky brat had told her that it was supposed to be a surprise, like they were talking about Christmas presents rather than a combat operation!

"So it begins," Madam Bones said in a dark tone. "Remind me again why I'm letting a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl give the DMLE orders while she runs off and makes a bigger mess that we're going to have to clean up."

Dora winced. Any political or personal capital Jen might have had with the Minister had been burned up with this stunt. She would need to deliver and deliver big. That, of course, was ignoring the very real likelihood that if she failed, Madam Bones's wrath would be the least of her problems. Being tortured, raped, and then murdered by the Death Eaters was the bigger concern, and Dora slammed the brakes on that train of thought before she could worry about her baby cousin any more than she already was right now because _that_ was not a pleasant thought in the slightest. On second thought, Jen was going to be in trouble even if this stunt of her hers _did_ work.

Still, right now she had an unhappy Minister to deal with. "Because Jen isn't a normal seventeen-year-old schoolgirl. She's one who fought Voldemort on even footing, destroyed a truly impressive number of Inferii during both the takeover of the Ministry and the breach of the wards, and by her own admission killed a dozen Death Eaters who were posted in Hogsmeade by herself when bringing the Muggleborns' families to safety here. You wouldn't have listened to her idea when I brought it to you this morning if you thought she were just an undertrained witch. Not to mention, she has a plan. That's better than we've had for the last couple of months, even if she was… vague in the details about her side of things."

"Deliberately vague, and it isn't like we had much choice," the older witch bit out. "She was already gone to Paris or wherever it was she went by the time you told me. Either we go along with this fool plan of hers, or we consign a young woman to her death when she inevitably gets in over her head. I'm tempted to arrest her for her own safety when this is done as it is. Not even the Dumbledore's bloody Order did something like this, and that, Auror Tonks, is not something to be proud of."

Clearly she had understated matters. Jen had better do something beyond impressive if she wanted to walk around a free woman until this war was over.

She was weighing just what to tell Madam Bones and if she really wanted to keep Jen from suffering the consequences of her actions this time when they heard it. Starting low but growing, a high-pitched howl drifted to them from the direction of Hogsmeade. Did Jen's plan involve transfiguring a pack of wolves or something? That made sense in a way – it certainly had the advantage of keeping Jen out of the line of fire – but that in itself was no reason to play her cards so close to her chest. Voices sprung up, undoubtedly the Death Eaters throwing curses at the wolves.

_Okay, Jen. The fight's started. Please tell me you have a brighter idea than just throwing fake animals at the problem._

The voices rose in volume, and from the loudest could be heard bits and pieces of words too similar to _'Avada Kedavra'_ for her peace of mind. Conjured or transfigured creatures were not truly alive, but the Killing Curse worked just as well as other spells to reverse the transformations. How long would they take to destroy the wolves?

Or was that Jen's plan all along? Swarm the Death Eaters with enough animals that they wore themselves out with Killing Curses and could be captured or killed? A couple of explosions rang out, and Dora shook her head. Voldemort's followers weren't stupid by and large. Evil bigots, but not stupid. Explosive curses were the best way to clear out large numbers of disposable attackers. Maximum effect for minimum effort.

A human scream was followed by a triumphant howl. A few more screams made her smile grimly. Part of Jen's plan had worked, then. Flanking the Death Eaters, she suspected, catching them off-guard. Not a bad plan, but one that would have worked better had it involved the Aurors serving as the other arm of the pincer.

Now that the pincer was deployed, the screams of the Death Eaters should have trailed off as they adjusted to the second group of attackers. That was not what was happening, though. If anything, the screams were becoming louder, and several Aurors looked at each other as the pitch of those screams grew higher and higher.

Where once the screams were of pain, now they sounded of fear.

The howls too were getting louder, and Madam Bones drew herself straighter as the listeners realized what was going on. The sounds of battle were not only louder but clearer, and that had only one explanation. The fight was moving closer.

"The Unspeakables cut off their methods of escape," Madam Bones said in a soft voice, "and they can't enter the grounds. If she forces the Death Eaters back, they'll be crushed between her wolves and the wards, like a wave smashing shells against a cliff." She crossed her arms, and her tone revealed how unhappy she was to admit, "Credit where credit's due, this isn't a bad plan. But why are they so frightened of a bunch of wolves? That's what I can't figure out."

On either side of the Hogwarts gates stood a short stretch of wrought iron fence, followed by thick hedges. When the gate had to be plugged up following the Inferius attack, Sprout had encouraged a variety of fast-growing brambles to grow over and though the fence to create a thorny screen that would prevent the Death Eaters from slipping anything through the fence that would not be stopped by the wards themselves. With the approaching screams, it was startling but not terribly surprising when hands burst through the vines and grabbed onto the bars.

"Let me in!" demanded a voice that Dora almost did not recognize. Marcus Flint, a Slytherin who had been a year below her back in Hogwarts and an unapologetic blood purist. She had heard him grunt in derision and anger, but never had she heard fear in his voice. "I surrender, okay?! I surrender! I'll tell you everything. Just let me— Aaaaaaaah!"

Flint's hands ripped downwards through the thorns to the ground, and then they vanished.

Crunch. Splat.

Silence, broken only by the loud pants of a large animal and then the scuffing sound of something heavy being dragged away.

Dora stared at the fence and muttered, "Jen, what did you do?"

Screams and curses dwindled into nothing, and the assembled witches and wizards clenched their wands in the stifling silence. Dora was not too proud to deny that she jumped when, a few minutes later, they heard an all-too-cheerful _peep_ , _peep_ , _peeeeeep_.

The Unspeakables ground away the rune they had carved in Dumbledore's slab of rock to keep if from fading away and vanished it to clear the path to Hogsmeade. "We need to move quickly," Saul Croaker, the only Unspeakable whose face and name were known to the Ministry at large, told them as he suited actions to words. "Depending on how and how often You-Know-Who wanted the Death Eaters to check in, we may only have a few minutes to erect the wards to keep his forces from reclaiming Hogsmeade."

"You lot are far too comfortable with all this," said Gabriella Savage. "Did Black tell you what she had planned?"

"No, we were as in the dark about the details as you. That doesn't keep us from being prepared. As for why we are comfortable?" He shrugged. "We knew from the beginning that Jennifer Black was dangerous. Try as she might, she could not hide that truth from those who watch with open eyes. It's why we want her."

A smear of red was all that could be found where Flint died, and they followed the drag marks down the road until they were lost in the chaos that had overtaken the village. Blood was liberally splattered over floors, walls, even ceilings, and the layer of snow covering the roads was a confusing jumble of craters and scorch marks and shallow furrows filled with slush. But no bodies in sight, and that absence more than anything made the hairs on the back of Dora's neck stand on end. Walking over to a nearby house that clearly had suffered some fighting, she pushed open the front door and peeked inside only to find yet another puddle of blood without the corresponding corpse.

She was not the only one on edge, and as they moved deeper into the village so the Unspeakables could cast their spells she could not shake the feeling that they was being watched. She was almost relieved when a loud growl split the air.

From underneath a porch stared a pair of eyes, enormous and glowing a chilling red. The black beast to which those eyes belonged slipped out of cover, and Dora swallowed as she got a good look at it. She was familiar with Padfoot, Sirius's gigantic Irish Wolfhound Animagus form, and she had been sure she would never see a bigger dog than that. This monstrosity stood only half a hand taller if that, but it was far bulkier. She had no doubts whatsoever that a wolf like this could drag a full grown man from the gates to the village.

The wolf snarled, long teeth bared, but barely had it taken a step when a loud voice called out, " _Sispann_!"

Dora flicked her eyes at the speaker and stared in befuddlement. What in the world was Jen thinking?

Her cousin sat upon the bare back of a horse, sidesaddle in deference to her skirt and with an easy smile on her face. She certainly looked the part of a young noblewoman out for a carefree ride in the country, a role that was incompatible with the carnage around her. Not to mention the slight detail that her horse itself was of a pale greenish-grey color and had had its eyes messily ripped out, fairly recently too if the brown streaks still running down its cheeks were any indication.

Jen turned her gaze to the wolf, and her smile lost some of its warmth. " _Sa yo se pa pou manje. Ale tounen nan vil la ak lòt moun yo._ " The wolf let out a low rumble at the incomprehensible command, but once its momentary defiance had burned out it ran back into the depths of the village. "Sorry about that," Jen said, pulling their attention back to her and her terrible steed. "They recognize me because I summoned them, but otherwise they seem to have a hard time telling one human apart from another."

"Summoned," repeated Robards. "You mean Evocation. That is a grade 2 dark magic, Miss Black, and illegal to perform in Britain."

The various members of the DMLE tensed up, and Dora glanced around with worry. She knew Jen had been studying the Dark Arts for that ICW exam of hers, but that did not mean she had to like it, and she was Jen's cousin and so felt obligated to cut her a little slack with stuff like this so long as it was something that was kept private and was not used to harm the innocent. Aurors who were not related to her would not be so quick to turn a blind eye, and with someone as hidebound and by-the-book as Robards there was no way Jen was getting away with this. On the flip side, if Jen felt threatened by all these Aurors and Hit Wizards moving to arrest her, she still had a pack of giant wolves at her disposal that had already proven that they could slaughter a town full of Death Eaters with dreadful ease.

This could get really ugly really fast.

Jen gave Robards a nod, almost as though she were oblivious to the danger ahead of her, and that more than anything told Dora that as far as Jen was concerned everything was still going according to plan. "That is correct, so it's a good thing that I did not summon them in Britain, isn't it? I summoned them in France and portkeyed here with them. There is no law stating that someone cannot shuttle Evoked creatures into the country, only that I cannot summon them here."

"That just means that it will be the French Aurors who want to put you in prison."

"Not as much as you seem to think, Chief Auror Robards." Jen's smile sharpened until it was pure Narcissa, and Dora could not decide if she wanted to laugh or cry. Her cousin was terrible for her blood pressure. "It's actually an interesting legal grey area. You see, unlike Britain France recognizes International Confederation of Wizard licensure to practice the Dark Arts, which is issued once the Proficiency Exam in that subject has been passed. Now, I do not physically have my license, so by one standard I am in violation of French law, but when the license is approved the date of issue is actually listed as the date on which the bearer passed the Proficiency, which I took today, rather than the date of approval. By that standard summoning these creatures will be perfectly legal in hindsight. I'm not sure how the courts would settle that issue, but considering the issuance discrepancy I doubt the consequences are as severe as practicing dark magic without a license would be," she finished with a shrug.

Croaker cleared his throat, pulling Robards's, Bones's, and the other Aurors' attention to him. "This issue actually comes up rather commonly, Miss Black, by other young witches and wizards who wish to show off their prowess in the days immediately following their exams. The punishment varies among different countries as you might expect, but generally it is no more than a nominal fee. This assumes that the witch in question actually passes her Proficiency exam, of course."

"Oh, have no fear on that score, Mr. Croaker. I passed my exam with flying colors. I am sure of that."

"Question, Jen." Her cousin glanced over, and Dora waved at the surrounding houses. "Where are the Death Eaters, anyway?"

The smile finally vanished from Jen's face. "Did you know that when you kill a hellhound, two more are born from its remains like a hydra? I didn't until today, nor did I know that they are apparently born hungry. And the Death Eaters tried again and again to kill them." Those were chilling implications, and Jen slipped off the disturbing horse-thing's back and walked back into sight whereupon she started petting its neck. "Instead of making them fight their instincts, I just worried about vanishing what was left when they were done. It's why it took so long to call you over here. They're… messy eaters."

They took a moment to digest that comment. Finally Madam Bones shook her head. "Miss Black, will you come over here? I need to discuss something with you. Auror Savage, you as well. The rest of you, continue on. We need this town protected from the Death Eaters."

Jen tilted her head but nodded in acquiescence while the rest of the group walked past, most of them keeping a wide berth from her and her creature. Turning back to the horse, she lifted herself onto her toes and gave it a kiss on the nose, upon which it dissolved into gold and black mist. She turned around and quirked one eyebrow when she noticed Dora's look of disbelief. "What?"

"Don't _'what'_ me. What was that about just now?"

A blush lit up Jen's cheeks, and Dora blinked in surprise. When was the last time Jen had actually been _embarrassed_? "Just like you, once upon a time I was also a normal little girl who wanted a pony. This is an old dream come true. Besides, he was sweet, knelt down so I could get on without being told and everything."

"He had no eyes and looked like something out of a nightmare."

"So? Still sweet."

"I don't know what it means that _that_ was what you focused on, Auror Tonks," Madam Bones said, cutting off their brewing argument, "and at this point I don't think I want to know. What I do want to know is why you did this and why the hell you think I'm going to let you get away with it."

Her eyes narrowed, Jen dropped her innocently creepy act like an old cloak. "Simple, Minister. I did it because you needed Hogsmeade out of Death Eater hands, and you needed it done in such a way that not only was the village still more or less intact afterwards but you did not throw away your Aurors' lives reclaiming it. There are very few methods by which both of those criteria could be met, as evidenced by the fact that Hogsmeade has continued to be under Voldemort's control. To answer your unspoken question, the reason I did not relay to you what my plan was is that we both know you would have tried to forbid it due to the unreasonably paranoid view of dark magic in Britain, whereas now it is a _fait accompli_ that you can't do anything about.

"And why you're going to let me get away with it?" Purple eyes flashed with dark amusement. "It's because despite never having spent time with you, I know what kind of person you are thanks to everything Susan has said about you. You're fair, and unlike Dumbledore's principles yours do not make you a fool. You needed this victory, both to get the Death Eaters off our doorstep as well as what it signifies to all the people within the grounds who have been making noise against you because you couldn't figure out how to get rid of the Death Eaters without taking unconscionable risks. I took advantage of a legal loophole and gave you that victory, and if you are truly the person whom Susan admires so much, you will not repay that assistance with spite and baseless condemnation."

"My condemnation is anything but baseless. You are a dark witch, no different from Voldemort."

"Yes, I am a dark witch. Evaluated, graded, and soon to be licensed," replied Jen without a hint of regret or concern. "It's ironic. You view Dumbledore as hopelessly corrupted by his own ego, but you can't help but think of the world in his terms. Probably the result of the many years he spent poisoning the minds of the populace. Voldemort didn't commit uncountable murders and acts of terrorism because he's a dark wizard; he did it because he's an evil monster who wants to rule this world if he can or watch it burn if he can't. The Death Eaters don't follow him because they know dark magic; they follow because they're small-minded bigots who fear and hate the wider world around them. Don't mistake me for them just because I am interested in dark magic for its own sake."

Dora froze her expression before she could reveal her sudden doubt. What had Jen said a year and a half or so ago, back when Sirius had tried to convince her to come to an Order meeting? That she was a dark witch and therefore more like the Death Eaters than those fighting them, or something to that effect? That was contradictory to what she was saying now. Admittedly, at the time she had been comparing the Death Eaters with the Order, and Dora had assumed she was being somewhat facetious as well, but had her words been so explicit? The Auror forced herself not to look over at her cousin, the same cousin who had _reportedly_ spent a year hunting down a serial killer and mass murderer with the help of two mercenaries if one were being generous and never would have revealed that little side venture except for the fact that in the course of those fights she had managed to lose and regain an arm. A hunt to which she was the only available witness.

Dora hated to think of her favorite cousin in those terms, but how she felt did nothing to change the fact that Jen had Narcissa's talent for telling people what they wanted to hear.

"How can we know you aren't trying to use this war to set yourself up as a Dark Lady?" Gabriella asked quietly. Dora shot her a quelling glance, but that look was enough to comfort her that her senior Auror did not appear to consider that a strong possibility. It was a question that needed to be asked, a probe for someone Gabriella did not know as well as Dora did who had just shown a worrying grasp of the Dark Arts.

Jen, on the other hand, did not catch that detail. Her lips twisted as she fought a sneer, but her voice still rang with anger. "If we assume for the sake of argument that you are correct, Auror Savage, then things would have gone very differently and you would be in much worse straits than you are now. There is a rebel army already formed and trained who would be able to accomplish that goal of governmental takeover: the Death Eaters. I am the daughter of Voldemort's right-hand witch. If ruling the country were my goal, I could have slipped myself into his ranks, and due to my mother's position and my own skill I would easily have been tapped as the leader for my generation of Death Eaters. Voldemort starves you out of Hogwarts, kills the lot of you, and sets himself up as the leader of magical Britain. All it takes then is for him to have one unfortunate accident, and who would be his natural successor? _That_ is how I would make myself queen, all without lifting a single finger until it was time to slip a knife between Voldemort's ribs.

"But you don't see me doing that, do you? Instead I'm here, in Hogwarts with the rest of you, being interrogated after I pulled your ungrateful arses out of the fire and when I have already had a full day of exams that I finished off with killing a good thirty or forty people who, if your 'suspicions' were correct, would be _my own bloody allies_." Taking a deep breath, Jen visibly forced her temper down. "That is how you know that I have no interest in being a Dark Lady. All my actions are directly contradictory to achieving that goal. If you don't believe simple logic, then there is clearly nothing I can say that will convince you otherwise, and so I have no reason to waste any more time trying to explain things to you. Do you have any _other_ questions?"

Madam Bones shared a long look with Dora. "Not at this time. Go back to the castle and get warmed up. And Miss Black?" Jen stopped a few feet away but did not turn around. "Despite my opinions on your methods, I do appreciate your motives and what you have accomplished here today."

That did little to calm the younger witch down, and she stalked off towards the castle.

"Anything you would like to add after that little display, Auror Tonks?"

Dora blinked and shook her head. "I think you hit a nerve there, Gabriella. That's madder than I've seen her in a long while, and normally even then it's only if there is someone else involved named either Dumbledore or Potter."

"It was a question that had to be asked. Someone with that much magical power diving into the Dark Arts? It's a recipe for trouble."

"It can be, I'll agree with that, but we all know it isn't that simple." She waved at the three of them. "Tell me each and every Auror doesn't wind up knowing a lot more about dark magic and how to use it effectively than anybody really needs to know, or that we don't have procedures in place for what to do if one of us goes power-mad and tries to overthrow the Ministry."

Quiet settled over them like a stifling blanket before Madam Bones spoke. "Most of what I know about her comes from Susan. She says your cousin is powerful and cunning, with a sharp temper and a significant vicious streak. She also says that she's loyal to her friends and allies, although she will sometimes act in what she feels is in their best interests rather than find out what they think about the matter. Before today, your cousin's actions were not my concern. I can't honestly say that is the case any longer."

"Jen is definitely her mother's daughter when it comes to some aspects of her personality," Dora admitted, "but she puts family and friends first. I knew that she was studying dark magic back when she first started, and from the beginning her plan was to take the ICW's exams and get her license. From what Sirius has mentioned, her ultimate goal seems to be to have that licensure recognized in this country and take away the stigma associated with learning the Dark Arts. I took a look at the curriculum she was going to be tested on, and it isn't… unreasonable is probably the best word I can think of for it. Nothing even as dangerous as what we pick up just from surviving, and the things she's focused on have all been slower stuff that wouldn't be easy for her to use in a combat situation without significant preparation, stuff like Evocation.

"We, the Black family, already know what she plans to do with it in the short term. The Unspeakables were recruiting her as soon as she got her OWL report, and she's made no secret that she will take them up on their offer." Dora gave her ultimate boss her most meaningful look. "She has no intention of taking over or ruling anybody. She wants to do research and instigate a little bit of social change, but even that isn't really all that radical since it is already the norm across the Continent."

The Minister turned away and swept her gaze over Hogsmeade. Dora had a good idea what was going through the woman's mind. The Death Eaters here had been a thorn in their side for months now, both from a strategic standpoint as well as how it affected morale. Was that not what kicked today's disaster off, her venting her frustrations to Jen and Jen coming up with a plan on how to solve the issue in the most brutally efficient manner possible?

"I don't like relying on self-admitted dark witches to solve our problems. Maybe I am stuck in the culture Dumbledore created, or maybe it's just common sense. That's a discussion for another day. I can't argue against her effectiveness, though, nor do I have any evidence that she isn't doing exactly what she claims, serving her country in what she sees as the best use of her particular talents." Madam Bones crossed her arms. "We will leave this situation alone for now. What's done is done, and this time it looks to have come down in our favor. But make sure, Tonks, that she knows that I will not let this slide a second time. No trying to manipulate us into doing what she wants. No using dark magic to solve a problem preemptively. If she has another bright idea like this, she is to give it to you, and it will be considered and discussed with as much weight as it deserves.

"If she wants to make the Dark Arts socially acceptable as you claim she does, then first she needs to convince us that a dark witch can be trusted not to stab us in the back."

* * *

 **Creole Corner:** Stop! These aren't for eating. Go back into town with the others.

**I wanted to show the hellhounds' attack on Hogsmeade, but while I wrote most of the scene I just couldn't capture the horror of fighting unkillable hellhounds. The Death Eaters didn't realize what they were dealing with until they were already on the menu. Instead I took a suggestion from reader Robert Harrison, and I think it worked out a little better.**

**Wow did this chapter get out of control quick. This was supposed to be the first scene of two or three in this chapter, and instead I have to cut it off at 5,000 words.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	20. Player Three

**I hope everyone had a merry Christmas and a happy New Year's.**

**1Batman4u:** Do you remember how Priest restored Jen's arm and leg in the last book? That's fleshcraft. It's basically magical surgery, which looking back through book 5 wizards and witches don't seem to have much of. The reason it is considered a Dark Art is not because it is inherently bad but because while the biomass is "supposed" to come from the patient or a willing donor, as you saw it is easily abused. It's also far too close to life alchemy, the Black Art Menagerie gained from Tiamat, for most people's peace of mind.

 **eye of sparta:** You want some reactions to Jen's revelation? Well, since you asked…

* * *

**Chapter 20**

**Player Three**

"…What?"

Albus pinched the bridge of his nose when Carson gave him a sheepish smile. As his admittedly dumbfounded response had made clear to everyone, he still could not believe what he had just heard. Minerva and Alastor beside him were just as surprised. The witch cleared her throat and asked, "Would you please say that again? I thought I heard you say that Miss Black admitted to Minister Bones that she had used Dark Arts to drive out the Death Eaters from Hogsmeade."

"That's what I heard the Aurors say, Professor. Said she had created or summoned or something a bunch of big black dogs and sent them into the village to eat everyone. Admitted it to Bones and the Unspeakables and everyone else there. Some of them were asking why she's still walking around now if she had really done that, but the ones who had gone said Bones hadn't told them to pick her up. Sounded like Bones was willing to let it go this time, or maybe she just hadn't told them what she has planned. Can't say one way or another on that."

"Thank you, Carson," he said with a shake of his head. "This information is… appreciated. You should probably go back to work, though. I don't think Rosmerta will keep you on if you're gone too long, especially if she moves back to the Three Broomsticks proper."

"That can't be right," said Minerva once the three of them were alone once more. "I would never claim that Miss Black is an angel – she acts far too much like her adopted family for that to be a possibility – but that she is a dark witch? I can't believe it."

"Truly, Minerva? I find it all too easy to believe."

She huffed and pointed a finger at him. "That doesn't surprise me, Albus, but you have a blind spot when it comes to her, and don't you deny it. You take everything she does in the worst possible light, and you've gone out of your way to cause trouble for her, like trying to keep Filius from making her a prefect. I'm close to James and Lily, too, but in this case? They made their bed, now they have to lie in it. Their family issues are not a reason to accuse Miss Black of being a dark witch."

"The Potters' family drama is not a reason, I agree, but Miss Black's actions are. I have heard of the magic she used," he admitted, "and it is no simple parlor trick. A witch using Evocation as she did calculates the position of nearby realms and proceeds to tear open a hole in the very fabric of reality through which to draw monsters into our world. Even the dark wizards who forced the ICW to allow the teaching of the Dark Arts in schools across the Continent regard summoners with suspicion and fear. What's more, these monsters called up? She immediately used them to slaughter an entire village's worth of people. In a single stroke, Miss Black bathed herself in the blood of _hundreds_ of people. I call her a dark witch because even were she pure as the driven snow before this, she is now a _mass murderer_. What other word would you have me use to describe this kind of depravity, Minerva?"

His former deputy had nothing to say in response to that, and Albus nodded to himself. He had acted on the knowledge contained within the prophecy, and now the reasons for his actions were obvious to all and sundry. He turned his eyes to Alastor, expecting to find the old Auror already preparing himself to fight a rising Dark Lady. Instead, the famed Mad-Eye Moody sat quietly in his chair, right eye closed in thought while the large left eye whirled around wildly. "Alastor?"

"If it was really that cut and dry, I find it interesting that Amelia let the girl just walk off like nothing important had happened. Makes me think there's more to this story than we were told."

"Or she has fallen into the same trap all men and women given power must face. The Muggle philosopher Acton said it best: ' _Power corrupts'_. Is it so hard to believe that Amelia will use any option before her to reclaim control over this country, even those that anyone can see are pure evil?" He shook his head. "If that is the case, as I fear it could be, I worry for the future of our world. The Darkness is temptation itself, and it corrupting as few other kinds of power are. Even by condoning their use in this situation, she has granted the Dark Arts a stronger foothold in our country. If dark magic solved this problem, it could solve the next, and the one after that.

"I need not be a Seer to know what happens if Amelia reclaims the Ministry through the use of dark magic. She will not be able to push it away again. Dark magic let Voldemort take over Britain, dark magic let her take it back, and she must always fear dark magic being used again by another seeking to claim a throne. She will keep dark wizards around her and around her successor"— _If she even gives up her newfound power_ , he did not say—"never knowing or caring that in doing so she has doomed us all. When fire is fought with fire, all that happens in the end is that the world is set ablaze."

Alastor finally opened his remaining original eye and focused it on Albus. "As someone who was once the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, _and_ the Supreme Mugwump of Britain for the International Confederation of Wizards, you want to be very careful when you talk about how power corrupts. Tell me if I'm wrong, but I think the rest of that quote you just spat out goes, ' _and absolute power corrupts absolutely'_.

"Now I don't know about you, but right now, this doesn't make sense. All the pieces don't fit. That tells me there's more information we're missing, and this isn't the kind of situation to go off half-cocked."

Albus sighed at his old friend's bullheadedness. Alastor had so thoroughly made up his mind that _Albus_ was in the wrong that he refused to see what was right in front of him. "What part of letting a known dark witch walk around freely fits with your maxim of 'constant vigilance'?"

"The part where I don't stick my head through a doorway without checking what's in the next room. Doing that invites someone to chop it off. Making a decision based on what you know has its place, but when it risks nothing to get more information, only a fool thinks he knows enough. Amelia has her reasons for letting Black walk around, and if those are good reasons, I won't be the one who's going to muck it all up."

"How long do you think she's been involved in the Dark Arts?" Minerva asked softly. "Was it only since she joined the Blacks?"

Albus reached over to pat her hand. "She was only found after Sirius went looking for her. No one but she knows who taught her before that or what she learned. Considering her actions during the Triwizard Tournament, it is not hard to believe she was already well-versed in the Dark Arts when she came here."

"I… It's just so hard to believe. I suppose it would offer a better explanation of how she could compensate for being blind so well, though."

Compensate for what? He stared at Minerva, and from the corner of his eye he could just barely make out Alastor giving her an incredulous expression. "What do you mean, blind?"

"She was blind her first year here. She wore a blindfold when I gave her the placement test before she started, and she outright admitted it to me."

"And this never came up _why_?!"

"I told Filius as soon as she was Sorted!" she shot back. "As her head of house, it was his responsibility to make sure her handicap did not interfere with her education, and it clearly didn't. She had no trouble with any of her classes, and then she could see her next year, and it didn't matter any more."

"That doesn't explain why you didn't tell me, though. As the headmaster, I deserved to know."

"It wasn't my place to do so. Once again, if she were sent to Gryffindor, I would have told you that night, but she wasn't. She went to Ravenclaw. You'd need to ask Filius why he didn't tell you."

"Probably figured he'd try handling it himself first," Alastor muttered with a twisted expression. "Flitwick always struck me as the self-sufficient sort. So long as he didn't need to involve you, no reason to."

"So Miss Black spent an entire year here, completely blind yet had no problems with anything to the point no one knew about it, and that did not strike you as odd?" he asked in a voice of disbelief.

"Well… Not at the time… I figured she had her way to deal with the problem."

Alastor laughed mockingly at both of them.

* * *

"…What?"

The green recruit in front of him flinched back, and then the worthless cretin scuttled backwards when he rose to his feet and stormed closer. "Did you just say that Hogsmeade is back in Dumbledore's hands?"

"Y-Yes, milord."

" _How_? What did the forces who fled like cowards say happened?"

"No one knows! No one came back! We only know it belongs to the rebels because no one could get in."

Voldemort waved his hand in dismissal, and the masked man fled like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. Why was he only just now hearing about this? Timothy Nott had relayed what was becoming a standard 'no change' message only a day or two ago, and unlike the spineless worm who had just left, the two elder Notts held no fear that he would kill the messenger out of hand. The person who made such a drastic mistake, absolutely, but even then those two would try to shift the blame onto someone else. Even if they were dead, the information still would have spread among the men those weasels did not fear, and someone with a bit of backbone would have told him the full story.

So if no one knew because no one had been told, it must mean that nobody escaped Hogsmeade. The Ministry and the Order captured everyone and everything in the town. All the wizards, all the werewolves, all the trolls…

He shook his head. No, that did not make sense. It was a cardinal mistake to underestimate one's enemies, but putting down every wizard and dark creature he had stationed in the town would require a degree of competence that not only had he never seen from his foes, but that in all honesty he was not sure was humanly possible. Well, competence or ruthlessness; it was possible, he supposed, to wipe out everyone if they decided to raze the entire town to the ground or something similar, but that was even less in character than the first option.

Whom should he send to investigate the matter, though? That was the real question. With Lucius dead, normally his next choice for any task requiring subtlety would be either Thaddeus or Timothy Nott, but the latter was missing and the former could not be trusted to operate optimally thanks to the aforementioned problem. There was no way he could send Bellatrix. Barty was busy dealing with issues at the Ministry.

Or why not get his information first-hand? It had been months since he had last been involved in this war personally, and all the strategic and administrative work that went into leading a war was draining his patience. He was at the point of wondering how much of his ambition to take over the country was ruling Britain and how much was the act of taking itself.

Leaving his war-room, he stepped onto the balcony overlooking the plain below and spun himself through space and time onto the top of a hill. Below him sat the village of Hogsmeade, and inside it scurried a number of wizards and witches in a motley assortment of robes. The messenger had remarked that none of his Death Eaters could enter the town, had he not? That implied that the same wards that kept his men from entering Hogwarts proper were set up here, which was… worrying. He had assumed it was an addition to Hogwarts's wards, using the castle's power to maintain the additional layer of defense, but Hogsmeade did not share Hogwarts's protections. It had to be the result of a separate ward scheme.

If that were the case, then anywhere the Ministry reclaimed would shortly afterward be protected from capture once more, at least by his human forces.

He conjured a set of field glasses and peered closer at the town. After a long stretch of untold seconds, he lowered the glasses, vanished them, and conjured a slightly different set. The first ones must have been faultily conjured, for there was no other explanation for how they could have shown what he thought he saw. Except no, the second pair gave him the same view as the first.

"That's a lot of blood."

Again he lowered the glasses, more confused now than he had been upon his arrival. How, and more importantly who? Dumbledore and his precious Order were right out. Even were the blood not all the Death Eaters' but the Ministry's as well, those quivering idealists would shrink away from the true ugliness of war. The Ministry, then; perhaps the Aurors were finally living up to their names and reputations and treating this fight as what it was. But even then, to move so decisively that not a single one of his forces escaped?

Voldemort stepped backwards off the top of the hill and out of sight of the Ministry wizards so he could more easily move unseen. He was missing something still, and perhaps he could figure it out if he only had a different angle from which to look. He made it from his point of arrival to the forests on one side, and then he walked back towards the other. Nothing, nothing, nothing; how had Dumbledore and Bones managed this?

He stopped, and his nasal slits flared again.

His footsteps this time were slower, and his head tilted this way and that as though he were a bloodhound finally catching a long-awaited trail. His nose led him to a patch of burnt grass, and a deeper inhale brought the stink of blood that was still almost buried under all the sweet rot. Someone had used dark magic here, a powerful piece of dark magic at that, and of all the people stuck in the castle only one would fit.

"Black, what were you thinking?" he asked himself as he knelt down and dragged spindly fingers through the ash. "Whatever it was you did, you succeeded in what you set out to do. Once again you have killed my servants. But this is foolhardy, even for you."

He raised his head as though to stare over the hill at the town and castle. If she killed everyone within the village, which he had no doubts she could do, there was no way she could have hidden it, not with Dumbledore and the Ministry right there. Why would she reveal her true nature now? Did she really think she would get away with it?

 _Did_ she get away with it?

That thought was more frightening than the others. He made a point not to underestimate Dumbledore, who was old and still quite powerful despite his ridiculous morals choking his every step. He did not plan to underestimate Bones, who was desperate with him ripping her authority out from under her. But if there was only one person he dared not ever underestimate, it was Black. She reminded him far too much of himself when he was in his twenties and early thirties, and that meant that any slip, no matter how small, she would try to turn to her advantage.

Still, this was a strange move no matter how he examined it. Why would she reveal her identity as a dark witch now? Had he succeeded in making Bones and her Ministry so desperate that they would accept help from any source, no matter what that help was comprised of? From what he knew of Bones, he had his doubts about how well that would work. Perhaps Black was implying that while she was a dangerous and unpredictable weapon, she was nonetheless the Ministry's weapon. It tempered the threat, but while he was familiar with starting on the bottom rung of the ladder and working his way up by making himself useful to those whose power and influence he needed, consigning himself as nothing more than a weapon was more than one step too far. Black would despise the chains that came with that status just as much as he would in her shoes.

"Did you make a lethal misstep, or have you managed to set the Ministry dancing to your tune?" Standing and wiping his hand off on his robes, he shook his head. It did not matter in the end, he supposed. Either way, she was too dangerous to be left alive.

* * *

"Hey, Jen. Came you come with me? Wanna have a quick chat."

The younger witch followed with a frown, and Dora had to admit in the privacy of her own mind that she was not much happier. She had known in her bones that this conversation was coming ever since Jen decided to show off the day before, but forewarning did not make the potion any easier to swallow. Leading them through the too-full grounds, they at last reached one stretch of grass that was more or less undisturbed and occupied only by one man.

Jen looked him up and down before confessing with a resigned smile, "I figured we were going to have this chat sooner or later, Professor Moody."

"I'm not your professor, lassie. Don't bother with the fake respect stuff. Call me Mad-Eye like everybody does and take a seat. We've got a lot to talk about. Tonks, you pull up some grass, too. You're involved in this just as much as she is."

"How am I involved—"

"Remember what I told you last year when I asked you about what really happened in Hogsmeade? I told you we'd be revisiting your cousin's stunts if they became relevant. Guess what? They're relevant." He took a swig from his hip flask. "I've got questions, Black. You've got answers. Let's trade."

"Trades are supposed to involve the exchange of something you want for something I want. Somehow I doubt I will want your questions," said Jen with a smile.

"What you want is for me not to give you a full interrogation. If it weren't for Tonks, that's exactly where you'd be, and it won't take much for me to drag you back into the castle for it. Avoiding that sounds like a pretty fair exchange, don't you think?"

Jen actually laughed at the growling threat. "What Dora likes about you I haven't a clue. But fine, Professor, ask your questions. I just want you to answer one for me first. These questions you want answers to; are they being asked by one of Dumbledore's sock puppets or by an Auror who has a working brain in his head?"

"I make my own decisions. It's what makes me a helluva lot meaner than anybody else Albus has in his corner. Start from the top. What did you do to the Death Eaters and why?"

"The what is easy. I summoned up hellhounds, using the skill of Evocation that I have been studying for the last two years and that I was officially tested on by the ICW yesterday. Once they were summoned, I just let them follow their instincts, which lean most commonly towards eating every human being in sight. Once they were no longer needed, I collected them in one place and dismissed them all."

Mad-Eye's crazy blue eye flicked a little more sharply in Dora's direction than it normally did before returning to its roving surveillance, and her suspicion why he had done that worried her. Mad-Eye did not know anything about Jen except what he had read in the _Prophet_ and probably some of what he had heard from members of the Order and the DMLE. He would not be able to catch her in a lie. As someone who had spent time with Jen ever since she joined the family, Dora would be more familiar with her cousin's tells, and Mad-Eye was familiar with hers after her apprenticeship under him when she was a fresh cadet. He was using her as a lie detector for her own family. He met her gaze again and nodded just the slightest bit, telling her that he knew she knew what he was doing.

"The why?" Jen continued, oblivious of the message that had just passed between the two Aurors. "It's a little more complicated to accept, but it's even simpler in its own way. I want Voldemort dead by any means necessary. Unfortunately for me, that seems to require killing my way through a huge swath of his followers in the process."

"Mmhmm." Mad-Eye turned both eyes onto her. "And why do you want him dead so badly? Because it's the right thing to do? Because he's an evil son of a bitch? Or because you want to conquer Britain for yourself?"

Jen's face smoothed into perfect passivity. "Are you too about to accuse me of being a budding Dark Lady?"

"If the cloak fits. On the one hand, you have Tonks speaking up in your defense in no uncertain terms"—Jen quirked an eyebrow at her—"and the Minister, an old Auror herself, hasn't thrown you down the deepest hole she can find, and you just went Death Eater hunting, which I can respect even if Albus doesn't. On the other hand, you're a vicious little shit in your own right, you asked the goblins – or somebody, anyway – to play around with your blood to make you the rightful daughter of Lestrange of all people, you revealed more than a little skill with dark magic after killing a few dozen people with it, and you act like you've been taught politics by the wife of Voldemort's old left hand. Makes it hard to know which side of the fence you're really on. Either you're a threat who needs to be put down now, or you're a dangerous ally we need to keep a close eye on but should let keep going on murder sprees so long as you're pointed away from us."

Against her own efforts, Jen's lips twisted into a wry half-grin. "You don't mince words, do you, _Professor_?"

"I leave the talking out your arse stuff to the politicians. I'm more a take out the threats and bring them in so other people can sort it out kind of guy."

That brought an aborted snicker from the younger witch. "With an attitude like that, you do know you'd be a Dark Lady's dream enforcer, right? If I ever do go down that road, I may just have to recruit you. But to answer your question more directly, no, I have no intention of taking over from Voldemort and conquering the country. The Ministry has no need to be concerned. If anything, I want to help them and see them stand for another thousand years."

"Someone as ambitious and politically minded as you doesn't want to rule?" he asked mockingly.

"Stupidity is not a requirement for ambition, nor is a lack of self-control. Would you be willing to admit at least that I am a rational woman, someone who has a reason for what she does?" He gave her a nod. "Thank you. Then if you examine the fears you have, you will see that there is no justification for them.

"What would I stand to gain from becoming a Dark Lady? Power? It is no exaggeration or empty boasting that I am the most powerful witch in Hogwarts, student or not, and one of the most magically powerful people of my generation. There are others who are stronger, but I am already one among few. Authority, also known as political power? I am the heiress of one of the three remaining Ancient and Most Noble Houses. The House of Black has long been the flag behind whom a full third of the Wizengamot gathers. What's more, Sirius does not like politics, and he has already mentioned stepping down sooner rather than later, at which point it will be I wielding our family's authority. Wealth? We are one of the richest Houses in this country, we have more gold than we know what to do with, and just like authority, I stand to gain it all in good time. Adulation of the masses?" She laughed. "Ignoring for a moment that public opinion is fickle at the best of times, I have already said that I want Voldemort dead. Considering the power I have already mentioned and Dumbledore's efforts to hamstring our side of the war, I have little doubt that I will be the one to kill him. Just as Dumbledore profited from his defeat of Grindelwald, I will have the same rewards when I destroy our own Dark Lord.

"Power, authority, wealth, adulation. I have or soon will have them all. I have no need to seize the country to attain them. What's more, it would actually hurt my goals to pursue them by force. Anyone who overthrows a system forever has to watch her back to be sure nobody else is attempting to do the same to her. Those who work within the system? They have the weight of the system behind them to keep them from losing what they have achieved. I do not plan to lose my power in the few years. I will keep it and bequeath it to my descendants when I am good and ready."

"And you just care about dark magic for its own sake, right?" He shook his head. "If you were a regular bookworm, maybe you could convince me that's all it is. You're not." Eyes narrowing at her, he outright demanded, "What are you really after?"

"Is tearing away unthinking prejudice not a good and proper motivation for you?"

Mad-Eye kept staring, and Dora could not stop herself from glancing back and forth between them. There were only so many ways this could go, and she did not like most of them. If Jen refused to answer, Mad-Eye would not let this go, things would get violent, and as powerful as Jen was, Mad-Eye was enough of a tricky bastard that she'd put her galleons on her old mentor. If Jen really did want to be a Dark Lady in the end no matter what she said, which Dora did not believe, same thing. If Jen insisted that it really was just to lighten restrictions on magic, Mad-Eye still would not believe her, and even though that wouldn't lead to a fight, he would stonewall her regardless because of disbelief.

Or Jen could finally reveal her real motivations, which no one knew. Dora just hoped they were good ones.

With one slow blink, Jen offered her surrender. "What do you know of the magics that are clumped together under the label of 'the Dark Arts'? That isn't a rhetorical question, and I don't mean it condescendingly. You spent your entire career fighting those who use them, but what do you know about them in a broader scope besides which are applicable in combat?"

"If they weren't going to be used against me, I didn't care to know about them besides which ones were cause for arrest," he answered honestly.

"Fair enough. I have done more in-depth research on them." A bit of rearranging to find a more comfortable spot, and Jen took on a lecturing tone. "Some of them are easily turned towards evil, I will not deny it. The curses, obviously. Fleshcraft, blood magic, and yes, Evocation. That is not all they can be used for, but these types of magic did not earn their reputation without just cause. They are true dark magic, and there is a reason the ICW, who allow people to learn them, still monitors anyone who is known to study them. In taking their exams, I will be licensed to use these magics but will also be under the ICW's microscope for the rest of my life. That is not a bad decision or one I disagree with.

"Sadly, for all that the 'Dark Arts' and dark magic are viewed as equivalent by law enforcement, they are not at all the same. A large number of the Dark Arts, I would even go so far as to say the majority, are not actually dark magic. They are in truth nothing more than witchcraft." Jen frowned and shook her head. "I don't know for sure why they were given that label. I've done some digging, and I can't find a straight answer. What my gut tells me, though, is that it was an intentional burying of knowledge and custom. You see, between witchcraft and wizardry, the former has always been much more closely affiliated with the Old Ways. It's no secret that many of the Light side deride the Old Ways and wish them to be consigned to oblivion, Dumbledore and my birth father among them. By making the more powerful aspects of witchcraft illegal, they drive people away from them and the Old Ways both. I have plans for how to bring the Old Ways back into the public's mind, but if others insist on tying these two things together, then I will take great pleasure in uplifting them both and making their detractors choke on it."

…Yeah, that sounded more like the Jen she knew.

"And why are you so invested in the Old Ways, then? Just really like old traditions?" he continued to press.

On that she was quiet for a long moment. "No, I have personal reasons for that. You know some of my history, so I will drop the pretense for a moment and reveal something only my family knows about me. My mentor, the witch who raised me prior to Sirius's release from prison, was not just a witch. She was a trained and ordained priestess of the god Death, one of the Dark Powers. Over the course of our time together, she taught me everything she knew, and when she died she passed the duty on to me. That is why I am invested in the return of the Old Ways. I am sad and angry that people are doing their best to ensure that the worship of my god is lost to history, and that, Mad-Eye Moody, is something I will _not_ allow."

Mad-Eye did not look like he knew what to do with that revelation, and he turned his head to look at Dora. "It's true. She told us about it, but even that much was like pulling teeth." Now he looked more suspicious, and she elaborated with a sheepish expression, "Ours isn't the best family to have religious discussions in. We have a very… mixed-faith family."

"Huh." Probably the best reaction he could have to this bit of unexpected news, Dora thought. She knew he was not religious himself, most wizards weren't, but thankfully for her blood pressure and Jen not going berserk, he did not appear to be _anti_ -religion the way Dumbledore and James Potter were. "Have to admit, was not expecting that to be your reasoning for all this. Nowhere close."

"Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction."

He hummed and gave her a nod. "That much I'll agree with. You don't get free rein, Black, but you could be telling the truth. Or you could be lying again. I'll be keeping my eye on you until I figure out which one it is."

Jen's smile turned sharp and mocking. "Keep your eye on me as much as you like. Just so you know, though, there's a fee if you want to watch me bathing, and I will track you down if I catch you taking a free peek."

Dora rolled her eyes at Mad-Eye's bark of laughter. Why had she helped put these two in the same place again?

* * *

**This chapter delayed my plans a little, but on the whole I like it. Not only because the scenes were kind of fun to write, but also because it makes the number of next chapter so fantastically appropriate.**

**The idea of Moody being a Dark Lady's Enforcer was probably inspired by a character in** _**A Practical Guide to Evil** _ **, a wonderful fantasy villain-protagonist web serial. Google it, read it, be impressed.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	21. Dark Consecration

**Special shout-out to Takou for being the 1000th reviewer.**

**GlassGirlCeci:** Black magic and the worship of a Dark Power do not have to be related, but worshipers tend to be more open to the idea of becoming black mages. Yes, Moody reminded me a lot of Amadeus/the Black Knight last chapter.

 **Acerman:** Do I plan all this out from the start or make it up as I go? About 50/50. One of the reasons there is so much exposition, explanation, and world-building – besides that I just enjoy it – is that I never know when a random detail I've come up with will serve as a convenient hook to tie into a future event. Sure makes it look like I know what I'm doing, doesn't it?

 **Secundum:** The Baron wouldn't be as blatant in arranging for Voldemort's demise as popping out into the real world if Jen failed in her mission, but he would certainly interfere here and there. Good thing for him, Nyarlathotep (Voldie's patron Power) doesn't care what happens to his avatars so long as their actions provide sufficient entertainment.

" **What's going on with Danny?":** Patience, my friends, patience. He'll return to the story soon enough. And then you'll have proof that I'm the most awful kind of human being imaginable but it's gonna be _so much fun_! XD

**This chapter has been a long time coming, both in terms of planning and in how long it's been since I posted chapter 20. This chapter, the last winter solstice of the series, is important. I would even go so far as to say that it's one of the biggest chapters in this book. Actually writing it has been a daunting prospect, and I spent most of the last month staring at a blank page trying to figure out how to make all the details just perfect.**

**Instead, what you see is what you're getting. Striving for perfection would see this chapter forever in limbo.**

* * *

**Chapter 21  
** **Dark Consecration**

"To surviving the term," Susan said, raising her mug of steaming butterbeer. "There were times I didn't think we would, but somehow or another, we made it through."

"Aye, that we did. To all of us getting through this bloody war in one piece."

Justin raised his mug to tap against Susan's and Morag's. "To those who have fallen, and those who while still alive have lost everything nonetheless."

"To those who have lost something more intangible than life and possessions, but have yet lost something still," Padma agreed, no doubt thinking of her werewolf-bitten sister.

"To those whose lives and futures are still in danger until we win this war," said Tracey. Like Padma, she was probably thinking of family, her Muggleborn mother in particular.

Luna's mug joined the others'. "To those on whom we rely for our safety, and to those who rely on us. May we never let them down."

Jen glanced around at the group toast and shook her head with a fond smile. Never had she expected this when she chose to enroll in Hogwarts, nor had she thought it would manifest in the motley band of friends she had somehow called together. She raised her mug. The seventh, last, and final. "To those who have lost their lives thus far, be they us or our enemies, and to those whose lives have been claimed but are yet to be reaped. For only in the Baron's eyes is all mankind truly equal."

"So the Baron is a deity!" Padma said with a laugh once the toasts were drunk. "I've been wondering about that literally since you came to Hogwarts."

"…Yes. 'The Baron' is the title Elsie used to refer to Death."

While the others stared at her, Padma just shook her head and dropped it in her hand. "You are devoted to Kali. That explains _so much_ about you."

Unsure of just what she was supposed to say to that, Jen instead chose discretion as the better part of valor. She swallowed the last of her drink and set the mug down. "Fun as this is, I need to get back. Tonight we have a special family event."

Not entirely untrue, she told herself as she walked through the Three Broomsticks'd front door. Special event, yes. Family… eh. It would be just the women of the family at this celebration. For the last couple of years, while she was off representing the House as its heir, Cissy, Andi, and Dora had continued the solstice practice of lighting candles for those people they knew and loved who had passed. It was a nice bit of bonding, and a respect for the traditions intimately linked with the worship of her patron Dark Power. She would not go so far as to say she had missed it, for she had only participated that first winter after Sirius had found her, but she would enjoy joining in once again.

Even if it came with downsides. Her eyes roved through the nighttime streets of the so recently reclaimed Hogsmeade and towards the central square where a massive bonfire burned and all the village's residents and a substantial portion of the castle's students and guests had gathered to celebrate their renewed freedom. Tonight was bound to be a raucous party. By leaving now, she missed out on all the fun and the chance to find a couple of cute young men and women to warm her bed tonight.

And she really needed some fun to relax her.

The recent revelations she had been part of recently – to the Ministry at large, her capability as a dark witch; to Moody, her affiliation with Death – had been liberating in their own ways, but they were also so exhausting. For years she had kept these secrets under lock and key, revealing only bits and pieces to select individuals, and such diligence had served her well.

Now they were out in the open, with her identity as a true black witch the only absolute secret she held. She had no control over how and to whom the knowledge would be spread, nor what those recipients would do with it. The last several days had seen her looking over her shoulders, always on the lookout for the other shoe to drop square on her head. Who would try to bring her low first? Dumbledore? The Ministry? She no longer had the relative anonymity to cut down the threats arrayed against her, for suspicious murders in the night would point all fingers at her whether she was the cause or not.

That was not to say she regretted revealing her secrets. Not necessarily. As she had told Sirius, she knew the Ministry would need to know that she was an allied dark witch were she to make any headway in getting the Dark Arts condoned in Britain. Moody could have been a dangerous enemy thanks to his influence with both the Order and the Ministry, but his suspicions had been allayed once her semi-religious motivations were out in the open.

Everything had probably gone as well as it possibly could, but still she was anxious. She honestly had no clue how she was supposed to feel about everything that had happened in only a few short days.

Jen took a deep breath through her nose, and that breath caught in her lungs when it brought with it the sweet fragrance of a very recognizable tobacco.

An indefinable weight settled upon her shoulders, and her mind raced. Why was the Baron gifting her his power? Why now? It was not the first time she had borrowed Death's strength, but the previous instances had been while she was working a ritual. That was not the case now; she was simply standing in the middle of the street!

"—en? Jen!"

She shook her head, her vision swimming for a moment. This was not right, either. She should not be disoriented the way she was. "Huh?"

Luna laid a hand on her shoulder and spun her around, but whatever words the blonde had planned shriveled on her tongue. Luna took several quick steps back, and her other friends likewise looked unnerved. Before she could demand an explanation, Tracey quietly conjured a mirror and handed it over. Raising it, Jen blinked at the sight of the black eyes staring back at her. Dilated beyond where she remembered her irises ending, she could make out just the barest rim of purple left, and she had to wonder if even that was only in her imagination.

"Oh."

The mirror broke apart into smoke as it fell from her grasp. Something not unlike the phantom sensation of a hand gave her arm a tug, and she turned her head in that direction to look again at the bonfire in the distance.

" _You claimed the title,"_ a nasal voice whispered within her skull as the fog surrounding her mind faded away.

" _Now you must fulfill the role."_

"If you'll excuse me," she told her friends, "I need to take care of something."

Jen's earlier assumption had been incorrect. It was not a single bonfire in the middle of the square she had seen, but the collective light of multiple. Oh, the one directly in the center was by far the largest, but a dozen smaller fires lay in a ring around it, the space expanded to accommodate the fires and the crowds of people around them. Moods varied among the different groups, she realized. Most were jubilant, as seen by the laughing clumps of revelers at the main fire and the young children dancing around the bonfire most to the north. At the southernmost fire stood thick knots of Aurors and Hit Wizards and their assorted groupies, the good mood spoiled by the anger brought about by their drink.

But it was to the east she turned her eyes. No celebration or anger. No shouts or cheers. Instead it was bent heads and above them a near-palpable aura of despair. Despite the joy of Hogsmeade's liberation, the specter of war still hung above them. They were the people who still felt the scars of what war had stolen from them.

The broken. The isolated. The lost.

" _Those who desire guidance beyond what mere men can offer. Go to them in this, their hour of greatest need. You know what to do,_ ti kras jennès mwen _."_

Cold suffused her limbs as she slipped between the crowds.

A lone man drinking whiskey here. A young couple leaning against each other there. Her eyes and her magic ran over them one by one, looking for the deepest crack, the link that would break most easily. She had one chance to get this right, and just to raise the stakes she had the Baron's undivided attention while she did so.

There, a man in a drab overcoat rather than a cloak. Muggleborn or Halfblood with strong Muggle roots, then. Ring on his left hand, but nobody at his side. Widower, and recently too. Without a better plan on how to approach the matter, Jen stopped at his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. "How are you doing?"

"Gerroff!" He flung his arms out and slapped her hand away. Jumping to his feet, the reek of cheap liquor poured off him and provided an explanation for his bloodshot eyes. "'Oo the bloody 'ell d'you think you are? What d'you think you're doing?"

Had she misjudged her target? Her rational mind said 'yes, obviously', but the wintry chill pulsing gently in her chest made her wonder. Focusing on the latter question rather than the former, she told him simply, "I am offering you what comfort I can."

"Comfort?" He let out a mocking laugh, gaining the attention of those around them. "Doing a bang-up job of that, you are! I don't need your stinking tries at being _'comforting'_. I just want you to piss off and leave me alone!" He took a step forward, the fire flaring as though with his anger. The flames flickering in and out of her sonar's grasp distracted her, and her brow rose in incredulity at what she could not possibly be seeing. "Are you listening to me, you little slag?"

The fire crackled and cracked.

The man's face fell slack, and his eyes widened. He sputtered a few times before he could finally whisper, "A-Alicia?"

They stepped apart to get a better look at the strange fires that their companions were likewise staring at. Flames twisted unnaturally among the tall logs, bending out and downward and reaching to the sky like desperate fingers. It looked… almost like a person? In a strange, abstract art kind of way? The drunk clearly was not looking at the same thing, because he took a couple of shambling steps towards the odd gout of flames before he could stop himself and turn back to her. "W-What are you doing? 'Ow are you doing this?"

She shook her head. She had no clue what the Baron was trying to do, but right now her choices were standing there like an idiot or rolling with it and figuring it all out later. "This is not my doing, my friend."

Logs shifted and collapsed on themselves, as burning logs were wont to do, and the fires shifted in response. All normal as far as Jen could see, but her increasing difficulty feeling the fire itself and all the people gasping in shock and staring within the flames proved that normality to be a lie. Few things were unable to be felt by her sonar, and all of them were the direct result of the Powers' meddling in the mortal world.

"This… This isn't possible," the man muttered, half to her but half to himself. "She's gone. My Alicia's gone. She can't be 'ere. This can't be real."

Jen blinked and looked at the wavering semi-figures formed by the dancing flames as she realized what the Baron was doing. Pyromancy. Normally it was just used to try divining the future by watching for shapes in the flames and sometimes by throwing in plants and correlating the omens with what was seen in the smoke, but she had never heard of it being used to see figures of the dead. Then again, most rules were chucked out the window when gods got involved. She might not be able to recognize anyone in these fires, but she was also not the target audience, and that made all the difference in the world.

"Just because it is impossible doesn't mean it can't be real." He looked back at her again, and she raised her voice so that everyone in their little circle could clearly hear her, yet her words would be safe from the people standing around the neighboring bonfires. "This is the night of the winter solstice. It is now that the Dark Powers reign and reach into our world, and in their strength they weaken the Veil between this world and the next. It is no surprise that in these dangerous times, our loved ones wish to peer through at those they were torn away from."

"Dark… Powers?" Jen turned her head slightly to find the woman of the young couple she had previously seen slowly walking towards her. Not a woman, either; a girl, and with several facial features shared by the boy she had been leaning on. Sister and brother, then, rather than lovers. "You don't mean like You-Know-Who, do you?"

She shook her head, putting on a soft smile in an attempt to comfort the girl. "No, sweetie, not like him. Nothing like him.

"There are thirteen Great Powers that reach into the world and influence it to their whims. Powers of Darkness and Powers of Light, gaining and losing power as the year progresses and their realms change position relative to our own. They have existed since time immemorial, waging their own battles for their own reasons. They were ancient before humanity existed, and they will still be here when we and all we have created have been worn down to dust.

"Long ago, our ancestors worshiped them as gods, for what else would you call beings who care not for the laws of reality or magic? We served them, and they granted us their blessings." The Baron's power quickened within her again, and the bonfire flared as the figures vanished. It distracted her audience momentarily, but when their attention returned to her it was with even greater focus. As good a segue as she was going to get, probably. "But the times changed. Man learned more and more about how to manipulate magic and the world, and the wisdom of the past was not lost so much as it was thrown away like rubbish. _'There are no gods,'_ men of worldly knowledge decreed. _'Those beliefs are relics of older, unenlightened ages. There is only magic and our mastery of it. We have no need to worship empty stories.'_ "

She shook her head. "So much knowledge, history, gone. Books of rituals and prayers burned. Shrines and temples torn down, either by action or neglect. Even magic itself was buried, the strange and varied magics that made up the core of true witchcraft all but forgotten with only the tiniest scraps still clung to.

"But denying the Powers' existence does not make them any less real. Indeed, they still watch and act as they always have, and their gifts and curses are no less powerful than they ever were." Jen stretched out her hand in the direction of the bonfire. "You all saw just now evidence of their continued vigil. This is the night of the gods of darkness, and of them it was Death who chose to give you a gift to comfort you in your grief. Death escorts all who fall from this world into the Afterlife. Those you saw? Your parents, your children, your loves? He guided them into the peace of the next world, where they will wait for you to join them in the proper time.

"You have not lost Alicia," she told the first man, reaching out and laying her hand on his shoulder again. This time he did not fight her. "You have merely been separated from her for a while."

A small boy crept forward, ignoring the chiding of his mother. Blinking big eyes at her, he asked softly, "Will the gods make this war stop?"

 _Oh, child, if only you knew,_ she thought with an internal smirk. Her face reflected none of her dark humor, and she twirled a finger twice behind her back. "Why should they? This war is between men, and moreover men who do not respect or worship them." As if on cue, and it certainly was, the drunken Aurors under the influence of her magic raised their voices louder, and shouts came from their fire as a brawl erupted. She gave a breath of silent thanks that Andi had insisted Dora join the family for their remembrance, for it meant her beloved cousin was in no danger of getting caught in that mess. To continue the act, she twisted her head around in that direction before meeting the boy's eyes once again. "Do you think those people over there, those Aurors and Hit Wizards, would believe that any actions taken to help them were those of gods, or would they call it coincidence and accident and fortune? These are the same kinds of men who turned away from the Powers once. If it happened once, it can happen again. The Powers can help us, and they are willing to help us, but they do not have to. If we want them to help, we must give them a reason for them to want to do so. More than anything else, they crave to be worshiped once more."

"How do you know this?" an old woman demanded. "Why should we believe you?"

"You can believe me or not. That is your choice. As for how I know this…" She grinned. It was amazing sometimes how useful the truth could be to twist another truth. "I have served Death since I was a young girl. My family has long worshiped him or other Dark Powers, even if we could not publicize it."

The old woman frowned and came closer. "I know you. You're that noble girl, aren't you? The one who summoned the monsters that killed the Death Eaters here in the village?"

How had that become public knowledge so quickly? The crowd muttered, and she inclined her head. Either this was about to bite her hard in the arse, or… "That I did. Jen Black, at your service."

The disheveled man she had first spoken to fell to his knees at her admission, and his hands grabbed at her trouser legs. "'M sorry. 'M sorry," he whispered, creeping closer to her. "I didn't know it was you. My Alicia… We were separated when the Death Eaters attacked. They killed 'er, just 'cause she was Muggleborn. I thought they'd never get punished for it, but you did. You killed them for 'er, and you showed 'er to me again." He stared up at her with eyes overbrimming with tears. "Thank you, milady. Thank you."

That opened the floodgates, and over half of this fire's occupants came to her, thanking her either for liberating Hogsmeade or for showing them their lost loved ones in the flames. The former she accepted with all the grace expected of an heiress, and the latter she deferred as best she possibly could. Had anyone ever told her she would attempt _not_ to acquire fame and reputation, she would have thought them fools, but taking credit for the fire would have been counterproductive. Not only would she be unable to duplicate the deed on demand, it would take the spotlight away from the might of the Baron.

The Light, Dumbledore included and especially, hated and looked down on the Old Ways. Death himself had said that Dumbledore viewed them as myths even while he carried the Elder Wand in his pocket. If the Leader of the Light was that set against religion, she would take great pleasure in forcing him to watch as the worship of Death and the Dark Powers resurged and flourished as a result of her efforts.

Finally she extricated herself from the crowd and made her way back to the castle via shadowed and empty roads, a path that would hopefully stave off the headache she could feel gnawing on the backs of her eyes. Was it the flickering firelight that had gotten to her? The smoke? Or maybe the ice-cold power still singing in her veins? The open gates of the castle stood before her, and from within came Sirius and Andi.

"Jen?" he asked as she came closer. "Where have you been? We were waiting for you for— Jen!"

The Baron's mantle vanished, and so did all her strength. The only reason she did not fall face-first into the stone floor was that Sirius dashed forwards to catch her the instant her legs collapsed. She moaned into his chest but chose not to waste what energy she still had trying and failing to stand up again.

"Jen, are you okay?!"

A turn of her head let her glare at him, her expression not nearly as impressive as it normally was. It was not his fault he didn't know, but that knowledge did little to soothe her temper. "No, I'm not okay. I spent the last hour channeling a god. Human souls aren't meant to do that."

"You did what with what now?"

She pushed herself off of him and back onto her own two feet. "One of the downsides of being a priestess," she told him with a tired sigh. "Sometimes Death decides he wants to show off, and that means I get to serve as the conduit of his power. The results are awe-inspiring"—particularly if she were lumping black magic into that vague description—"but they have their associated costs, too.

"I know we were going to have our remembrance ceremony, but can we push it back just a little bit? I really need a nap."

* * *

**Alternate title: "Wherein Jen gets her priestess on".**

**If you want a visual of what Jen's eyes look like while bearing the Baron's power, Google "Hellraiser Pinhead eyes". Maybe I'm weird, but for me that's the creepiest part of his appearance.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	22. The Price of Power

**Jigoku no Yami:** There have been white wizards and dark wizards both who have retired from actively fighting, though abandoning the Powers themselves is decidedly less common. That most commonly happens with follows of the fairy Queens.

 **Silver Shadow Huntress:** It depends on what the ritual is for. If it's for worship, the intent is all that matter, but if it's for black magic, making mistakes is going to end _badly_.

 **Dragon Man 180:** I'm tempted to use that idea about Dumbledore. *evil wink* As for training a succubus not to feed on people… It is _possible_ , I suppose, but people are really bad about resisting their inner natures, so I don't know how effective it would be.

* * *

**Chapter 22  
** **The Price of Power**

"Calm down!" James shouted a moment before he had to duck under a punch. "I said you need to bloody well calm down!"

He did not know what had gotten into the Aurors and Hit Wizards standing around, but at this point he was regretting tagging along when Moody and a few other Order members had rushed out to quell the sudden brawl. Already he had been hit a half-dozen times. The only good thing about the whole fight was that they had all forgotten they had wands, otherwise this would have been a whole lot bloodier.

Well, maybe that wasn't the only good thing. He pushed his sweaty hair out of his face and looked around at the other bonfires set up in the middle of Hogsmeade. This was going to bring the public's faith in the Ministry down a peg or two. It had been frustrating, beyond frustrating, to watch the Ministry in general and Amelia Bones in particular snub Dumbledore and the Order and their achievements both in this war and the last back in the seventies. This fight, in the middle of a celebration no less, would do well in reminding them that they were not as perfect as they liked to believe themselves.

Losing what was left of his patience, he quickly fired Body Bind Curses at a few of the Aurors' backs and watched them drop to the ground. There, problem solved. He turned around and nearly had a pewter mug slam into his head, but he barely even noticed it. His eyes were too busy taking in a different scene just a short distance away, where a heartbreakingly familiar girl stood surrounded by an adoring crowd.

A father should always love his children and think the best of them, but sadly, all he could do was wonder what trouble Jenny could possibly be stirring up now. It was hard to keep any faith in her goodness when she delighted in showing off to the world how far she had fallen. For example, her involvement in reclaiming Hogsmeade, namely summoning up a swarm of hellbeasts and killing everyone in the village. That was not the first action she had taken to paint herself as evil as the very people they were fighting against, but it was certainly the most blatant.

He did not want to think of her this way, but maybe Arthur and Molly were right. Maybe his little girl was too far gone. But even if she was, it was still his duty as a father and a good man to drag her kicking and screaming back into the Light.

The other Order members had this in hand, James decided. He started to walk in that direction when another trio of berserk law enforcement wizards got in his way, and by the time he had put them down on the ground, it was too late. Jenny was already gone.

That did not mean she could not be found again. He hurried over the closest person from that little demonstration, whatever it was she had been doing, and pulled the stumbling man closer. "That girl who was just here. Where did she go?"

"Probably went to spread the word," the wizard said in a slurred voice that absolutely reeked of old sherry. "The Lady Black, she serves the old gods. They need us to call on 'em if we wanna win the war. My Alicia told me so. Said it in the fire."

James threw the man to the side and watched him scurry away in disgust. The old gods? The words of a drunk, certainly. Meaningless babble. Nothing anyone would take seriously. But he could not help but wonder…

He aimed his eyes at the castle. Could Jenny really be that foolish and blind?

"Hear anything useful?" He turned around at the sudden voice behind him. Moody watched him with an unimpressed glare. "When you insisted on joining us and then ran off, I figured you were trying to get some kind of information about what went down. Not harassing a couple of drunks."

"I wasn't harassing anybody!"

The grizzled old Auror started walking away, drawling, "Sure looked like it to me." After a moment he stopped again, and still facing away from James he asked, "What was it he said that you found so terrible?"

"It's nothing." Moody grunted but stood there unmoving. "Seriously, it was nothing. It's just… He said Jenny was a follower of the Old Ways. I lost my temper a little."

"The Old Ways. That's some old tradition and religion, right?"

James had to hold back the urge to spit. "That's one way to describe them, I suppose. What you aren't saying is that they're only followed by Dark wizards, and not even they believe in that rubbish they call a religion. It's just something they say so they have a justification for being evil. Only a few of them even pretend it's still a real thing they believe."

"Really?" Moody's voice was bone dry. "That fellow didn't seem to think it an excuse. Sounded like he thought these gods of yours were pretty damn real."

"They aren't my gods! And he was drunk; you could smell it all over him." He shook his head and tried to clear it of anger. "Maybe, _maybe_ , there are a few idiots here and there who think those beliefs have worth, but that's all. No one with any sense would ever give them even a passing thought."

Moody tilted his head to one side, but still he stood with his back to James. "Don't know how much I agree with you on that. All those Muggles up in the castle? Some of them are religious from what I've heard. Would expect their kids to be the same, too. I can't see much difference believing in those gods versus believing in the Old Way gods, myself."

"But those are Muggles and Muggle beliefs!" he said. Why was Moody acting so blind to the gigantic difference there? "Ancient Muggles didn't understand magic. They saw magic as something miraculous and divine, and then those religions stuck around. We're talking about other _wizards_!"

"So religion is just the resort of people without magic to make sense of the world around them while wizards are better than that?" Finally Moody turned around to give him a nod. "I see. Head on up to the castle, Potter. I need to turn these idiots over to Amelia. This chat has been… enlightening."

The old Auror walked away, and James frowned at the crawling sensation in his gut. For some reason, he felt as though he had made a major mistake somewhere, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what it could be.

* * *

Cold mist stung Jen's face, and she opened her eyes to find herself in a realm that was already becoming far too familiar. It was interesting, she thought to herself as she stood patiently waiting, but only a couple of years ago she had been terrified of the thought of being summoned to Death's plane of existence. Now it had become almost routine.

"You best watch yourself," the nasal voice she expected said from behind her. "Overconfidence has killed better witches than you."

"Baron," she greeted, turning around to face the emaciated form of the Power. "Have you summoned me for another task?"

She hoped not. While his demand that she work with Priest and Menagerie last year to kill the Turk had been beneficial to her since it came with an extension to her deadline for killing Voldemort, it had also been while the Dark Lord in question was silent as the grave. She could not afford to put that off any longer and go gallivanting around the world when he was such an immediate threat.

That said, in all honesty she doubted that would be the task the Baron would give her at the moment. He had made it clear he wanted Voldemort just as dead as she did. Whatever he wanted her to do was therefore of immediate and vital importance.

His skull-like face smirked. "You are both correct and not. There is a task before you, but it is one without end. I have already offered it to you, yet still I am without answer."

Offered? There was only one offer she could remember him making. "You still want me to be your Bridge to the human world."

Death stood silent and unmoving.

Taking a mental step backwards, she considered what little she knew of the role he had proposed. She would serve as a conduit for him to interfere more directly in the world, and in return she could request a boon from him. She knew one of her ancestors had served in that role a thousand years ago or more, and it was from that boon that the Blacks had received their natural talent with transformation. It was also that boon that had created the Black Curse, the tendency of their family members to die at relatively young ages for wizards, and also the incredible difficulty women in the family had in regards to bearing children.

"If I accepted your offer," she slowly asked, "could my boon be for the negative consequences of my ancestor's boon to be lifted? For my family to bear children without issue and live a normal magical lifespan?"

The Baron tilted his head and hummed, the sound deepening and beginning to reverberate in her bones, but Jen held her ground. At long last he spoke. "One or the other, I could do. Both is not possible. Once again, no change is without consequence."

No change was without consequence. Jen did not know for sure, but she worried about what that could mean. It could mean that there would be some other downside to her choice, one she did not see, or it could mean simply that she could not get rid of all the downsides of her and her family's talent. What worried her, however, was that the fact she could only choose one to be changed might imply that the other would be exacerbated.

Three choices before her, then. The first, to reject his offer entirely and give up the benefits for what sounded like a fairly passive role. The second, to give her family the ability to repopulate their House but at the risk that her descendants would all die at ages more appropriate for Muggles than witches. The third, to let the individual members of her family live for longer but worsen the chance that there would be a generation after them.

She clenched her fists. The first option was not one, not truly. There was no benefit in refusing the Baron's offer. As for the other two…

It was a choice between the House as a whole or the individual members within it, and Jen knew which side she would have to choose. Witches and wizards tended to have children at roughly the same time as Muggles already. That left plenty of time to have heirs and spares before anyone reached a truly dangerous age.

"I take it you accept my offer, then?" asked the Baron, likely having plucked her thoughts directly from her head as was his wont here in his lands.

"Yes. I accept your offer."

"Good." Death smiled, and the expression sent shivers down her spine. "I will warn you. This might—"

"Jen! Jen!"

It was a struggle to lift lids that weighed as much as she did, but somehow she managed to open her eyes. Tracey and Luna stood at the edge of her bed, both their faces etched in fear. Her first attempt at communication produced only a soft groan. "Why are you shouting?" she finally got out.

"Excuse us for worrying about you moaning and squirming around like you were in pain," Tracey shot back. "Next time, we'll just let you deal with whatever it is all on your own."

"Tracey, she doesn't look right," said Luna, silver eyes darting over Jen's face and upper chest. "She's pale as a ghost, and… There's just something wrong here I can't put my finger on. Even her adolickies are gone. We need to take her to Madam Pomfrey."

"I'm fine. I'm just tired." Why she was tired was a good question, but that answer could wait until she had taken a nap. Hopefully that would also give her sonar time to heal, as right now her sixth and primary sense was shattered. Were it not for the lights the other girls had turned up, she would not be able to see, and that was something that had not happened in quite a long time!

Luna reached over to yank her sheets and bedspread off. "Then you won't mind Madam Pomfrey confirming— Oh. Oh, dear Merlin."

Forcing herself up on her elbows, Jen looked down to see what had Luna so panicked, and Tracey too if her expression was any indication. What she saw was her sheets soaked through with crimson down to her feet and coming back up until the bed was no longer visible behind her body.

"Jen, you need to go to Pomfrey. That's a lot of blood."

The last time she had bled from strange places, it had been after the Baron touched her head. Her sonar had been likewise untrustworthy and sporadic then, too. With the other details at hand… She held back the inappropriate snicker that longed to escape. Maman Brigitte, indeed.

"I don't need to see Pomfrey. I know what happened, and the bleeding should have stopped a while ago. My body just needs to replace what I lost, and I'll be fine."

"You know what happened, huh? Then explain it," Tracey demanded.

"It's a simple explanation." She smiled despite herself. Simple was the last word she would use to describe this situation. "I wasn't telling the whole truth this evening. I don't just worship the Baron. I'm a priestess in his service. That means among my other roles, I'm Death's consort. This is the result of fulfilling those particular duties."

The two girls stared at her in horror for a long, silent, awkward moment. "Consort?" asked Tracey to break the silence.

"Yeah. Just between you and me, I recommend you don't have sex with gods if you can avoid it. Despite what the Greeks and Romans claimed, it isn't a fun experience." Her strength felt like it was coming back, albeit with agonizing slowness, and she rolled onto her side so she could reach out to her closest friends. "Can you give me a hand? I don't need medical attention, but I could use a bath right about now. This blood is getting really sticky."

* * *

Jen stepped through the doorway into the Ravenclaw common room with a sigh. For all that she had been given a few days to recover, her endurance was still flagging sooner than it had any right to, and she was getting tired of being so tired. It had also made celebrating Christmas Day with Sirius far more of a chore than it would otherwise be, but right now just watching him bounce around like a young child in the heights of a sugar rush had worn her out.

Flopping into one of the chairs, she felt herself melt into a spent puddle. If she had any say in the matter, losing what in hindsight was a liter or so of blood the way she had on Solstice night was not going to happen again.

"Merlin, Jen, you look like shite."

She flipped a two-finger salute at Morag without opening her eyes.

The Scottish girl laughed and came closer, joined by Padma, Luna, and Tracey. "I couldn't help but notice that it looks like you gave everybody the same thing," she continued, shaking a box Jen knew was wrapped in bronze and blue paper. So were the other Ravenclaws', though Tracey's was instead silver and green. Neither Susan nor Justin were around, but if they had been, it would have surprised no one that their gifts were also in their house colors. "Kind of tacky to do that when we can all see what you got everybody else."

Despite her best intentions, a small smirk slipped through and settled on her lips. No point in maintaining the pretense when the game was about to be up. "If you had opened your presents – you know, what one is supposed to do on Christmas – you would not be complaining nearly so much."

"We wanted to wait until you were here," explained Padma even as the girls tore into their gifts. "You have a habit of giving rather extraordinary presents— A ring box?"

"Mm-hmm. This seemed like a good year for a practical present. I actually had a lot of fun making those."

They opened the boxes, and the rings within pulsed with magical power. They were likely not so impressive to people who did not possess a talent for feeling the flow of magic as it slipped through the fabric of reality, but that was why she had also worked to make sure they looked elegant and fitting. Each of her friends now held in their hands a wooden signet ring, something that would not look too obtrusive. For Susan, Tracey, and Morag, they were true signets bearing their families' coats of arms, even if in Morag's case she had needed to find the emblem of the Muggle side of that family. The others' were more symbolic by necessity: Padma's bore a lotus flower, Justin's a rampant badger, and Luna's a many-legged dog.

It was probably gauche to reuse the same symbol as that on the charm bracelet she had given Luna several years ago, but she had been running out of time to finish them all.

"They're nice, yeah," Tracey said, rolling hers around in her hand, "but are they just regular rings? Because that doesn't sound so practical right about now."

"Of course they aren't. They're secondary foci."

That caught her friends by surprise, and they looked at the rings again with new respect. "Isn't making secondary foci an advanced application of runes and enchanting?" Padma asked.

"That it is. It helped that I had a useful cheat close at hand." Namely the wand cores she had salvaged from the wands she took off the Death Eaters killed to clear the way for the Hogwarts Express much earlier in the year. The unicorn hairs she had woven into her anklet, but that had left several dragon heartstrings for her to play around with. A couple had been destroyed in the process of experimentation, but she had needed only two heartstrings to make all six rings. "The wood is from a yew tree I already knew about, where my old tutor Elsie is buried. In a few years, I think it will be magical enough to be harvested for wands. It's certainly good enough to enchant now.

"They're actually dual foci. Hold up your hand with your palm out and push your magic into it, and it will cast a shield. Punch with it and give it power, and you'll cast a modified banishing charm in that direction." Jen smiled wider and snuggled into the chair a little more. "They aren't particularly impressive as far as secondary foci go, I know, but I thought being able to hold a shield at the same time as you're casting curses might be useful. I put instructions in the boxes with the rings in case you need reminders or, you know, you had actually opened them this morning when you were supposed to."

Luna licked her lips and gathered her courage. "Jen? Do you think you could come upstairs? I have a gift to give you, but… I think it best if I do so privately."

Morag began laughing uproariously at that, and Padma and Tracey surprised themselves by slapping her shoulders simultaneously.

For a long moment, Jen had to think hard about whether to get out of the comfortably overstuffed armchair, but eventually she sighed and opened her eyes. This had better be worth it. She followed the blonde up the stairs and raised an eyebrow when the younger girl cast a small set of privacy charms on the door.

If her ex-girlfriend was legitimately trying to get into her knickers…

Her sanity was spared when Luna reached underneath the bed and pulled out a squashy package. "It's not the present itself that I wanted privacy for. It's the question that comes after it."

Jen's curiosity was thoroughly piqued at that, and she untied the twine and pulled away the plain brown paper. What lay inside was a bundle of soft black fabric. Lifting it up revealed it to be a gauzy dress, a couple of silver clasps at the single shoulder and a row of them running down the opposite side. "It's beautiful," she murmured.

"Not the word I would have chosen. More like terrifying." She looked over at the blonde, who was diligently staring anywhere but back at her. "That's nearly identical to the dress you wore when I looked at you with the Diadem. After you told us that you worship Death, I thought it would make a… an appropriate gift."

"I told you that on the solstice. That's only four days ago. You made this in that short a time?"

Luna blushed mightily. "I, er, might have had some help? I ran into your cousin, Tonks, and when I told her what I wanted to do she took me to talk to Mrs. Malfoy. She was more than willing to pull Madam Malkin aside and put a rush on it. She… kind of paid for a lot of it, too."

"Well, that explains the cryptic comments she was making this morning," Jen said for lack of any better response. On the one hand, it was a gown worthy of a priestess, especially one who was the Baron's Bridge and whom he routinely called his 'little whore'. On the other hand, it was that vision through Ma'at's eyes that had spelled the end of their relationship. She had a dreadful certainty that it was that vision and subsequent conversation that related to the question Luna had yet to ask. "You said there was a question you wanted to ask."

The younger girl nodded. "Those people you killed. You said there was a reason to all of them. Was that reason because you were sacrificing them to Death?"

Jen made her face a mask. How in the world was she supposed to answer that? Confirmation would all but reveal her true nature as a black witch, and such a confession would sentence her to execution if anyone else found out. Negation would end this conversation, and forever after there would lie a gulf between them because of the lie.

The choice was painfully obvious.

"How could you ask that, Luna? No. I know you think me a monster, but credit me a little morality. I killed those people because they were terrible excuses of humanity who needed to die. If the Baron took any enjoyment out of it, it was because I was ridding the world of scum who reveled in others' pain and suffering."

_I'm sorry, Luna, but this is a step I will not, can not, take for you. Not for you, not for anyone._

* * *

**Not sure how to feel about this chapter, honestly. It feels like Jen is closing a lot of doors here. Out of necessity, but still, each closed door is an opportunity lost.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	23. Gifts Beyond Measure

" **What just happened between Jen and Luna?":** This was the first time anyone had ever directly asked Jen if she was a black witch, though whether Luna realized that's what she was asking is unclear. As a reminder, practicing black magic is a crime with a mandatory death sentence. Jen could have trusted Luna and revealed her final and most damning secret, or she could tell a lie and kept it to herself. She chose the latter, and in doing so decided that she does not trust Luna (or pretty much anyone) enough to literally put her fate in another's hands.

As to the other question related to this, no, Luna does not realize that Jen was lying. She hoped the answer to her question was no, and a no is what she got, so she's perfectly content with how that conversation went.

* * *

**Chapter 23  
** **Gifts Beyond Measure**

Jumping out of the car, Paula slammed the door behind her and looked out at the snow and trees that filled Ruskin Park. And more importantly, the other kids who were clumping up nearby, the adults who brought them staying well away and letting everyone have their time together. By now Tom and Lori were climbing out of the car themselves, but she did not have the desire or patience to wait up for them right now. Instead she took off towards the group, only slowing down when she found the boy she was looking for standing a short distance apart from the rest of their group.

Turning to look at her, the dark-skinned boy gave her a smile. "Happy Boxing Day, Paula."

"Happy Boxing Day, Drew. Is everybody here already?" she asked with a wave of her hand at the others.

"Just about. Chris's fosters took him up to their parents' for Christmas, but he said they were going to make it down here. A few others are just a little late, but they'll make it."

"I hope so." This had been tricky to organize, and she did not want anyone to miss it. It had been her and Drew's idea originally for everybody from Candyland to get together on Christmas Day, but the foster parents had been against it. Eventually a compromise was reached that they would all spend Christmas with their foster families, but the next day they would meet up in London and see each other. Paula looked at the group again, and her frown deepened when she found another notable absence. "Mama…?"

"I sent her a letter but didn't hear back from her. You?"

"Same."

Drew's arm reached out and pulled her into a hug. "Maybe she's just running late too. She said she was up in Scotland, right? Even with her magic, maybe it's a long trip." She could tell that he did not believe his own words any more than she did, but she let him pull her towards the kids anyway and forced a smile when Lara jumped into her arms babbling like a sugar-high squirrel.

_Mama, please, don't leave us here alone. Don't forget about us._

* * *

Jen propped her cheek on her hand and her elbow on the park bench as she watched the kids frolic in the snow. It had taken no more than half an hour before the youngest of the ex-prostitutes had lost interest in catching up and just wanted to play, and it did not take much longer to convince the rest of the horde to join in. A shrill shriek signaling wet snow sliding down Drew's trousers pulled a laugh out of her, and she leaned against the back of the bench.

She would have to go soon, but it was nice to see that they all were adjusting to their new lives. Nice to know that she had not made the wrong decision when she burned Candyland to the ground.

"You aren't even going to say hello?"

She turned in surprise to find a woman walking up towards the bench. She had become too accustomed to Grimmauld Place and Hogwarts, she realized, or else was too wrapped up in watching the children's play. Here in the Muggle world, her sonar extended a paltry ten feet away, which was short enough that it did not take much for someone to sneak up on her.

Thankfully, it did not appear that the woman was a witch, or even that she meant Jen any harm. Death Eaters did not wear thick coats and sky-blue scarves, nor did Muggle police, and a white witch would have killed her without giving her a chance to try defending herself. The woman stopped when there was still a healthy fifteen feet or so between them. "I'm Lori," the woman said, giving her an awkward little wave. "Paula's foster mother."

A cool silence stretched out. Jen was unsure exactly what this woman wanted, but she suspected it was not something she wanted to give.

"You're the one they all call 'Mama', aren't you?"

And there it was.

Leaning into the bench, she sighed quietly. Why would her kids' name for her be important? That was the question she now needed an answer to. If this Lori decided to cause her issues after she had that information, a memory charm would iron out that little wrinkle. "I'm surprised they told you that name."

"Why would you be surprised? Paula doesn't take much prompting to talk about you. It's obvious she loves you. May I sit?" she asked, pointing at the other end of the bench. Without a good reason to refuse, Jen gave her a slow nod. "It isn't just Paula, either. All the kids talk about you. You're their hero, their protector in the shadows. The banisher of monsters under the bed," added Lori with a small grin, and Jen could not stop her own smile. "Yasmine said the story of you telling Nicole's 'monsters' that they would have to answer to you if they didn't get out and stay out was the funniest and sweetest thing she had heard in months."

Ah, little Nicole. She remembered that night. Several nights of nightmares, and finally Jen and all the other people trying to get some sleep had had enough. Because working nights for their clients meant sleeping in the early morning, she could not just yell under the bed and say those imaginary specters were gone when dawn's light was already peeking into the room. Instead she had conjured a trio of shadows that fled out the opened window too quickly for anyone to be able to make out any details.

As for the promise that they would not return? All it took was telling the little girl that even monsters knew Jen was the scariest thing they would ever meet to hammer that home. The showmanship and illusion beforehand helped, too.

"I assume the lot of you talk amongst yourselves, then, just as the kids do."

Lori nodded. "We've all heard the stories about Mama, though none of us got many details. Certainly not enough to identify you. Honestly, at first we all assumed you were an older woman who was partners with this Richard we've also heard about. After all, who else would manage a child brothel?"

"For not being able to identify me, you certainly figured it out quickly."

"I had a small advantage. Do you remember several months ago? You visited Paula and sat out under our oak tree with her." Slowly Jen nodded, her face becoming a mask. Lori could not possibly be implying what she thought she was implying. "I was home that afternoon and happened to look out the window. I wasn't sure who the woman was who had Paula sitting in her lap. At first," she admitted guiltily, "I thought you were one of Paula's… 'clients', but the way you were acting was off. How you held her, the kiss on her head. That looked more familial than anything else. After that, it was easy to confirm it."

"I see," Jen sighed. Spotted from a window, and she had not even noticed. That was embarrassing.

They sat in silence for almost a minute before Lori spoke again. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you get the name Mama, anyway? It's… an odd choice."

"Not as odd as you might think. I was one of the older girls around when most of them started working, and I showed them the ropes just like the older kids did for me when I got there." She shrugged. "Since I had a good head for numbers, I stuck around even after I was too old to turn tricks. I was nine or so when the kids really started calling me 'Mama' in earnest, and the name stuck."

Blinking rapidly, Lori looked her over again, her lips pursed in thought. "You were nine? But… That would mean…" Another moment's hesitation, and Lori asked the question Jen knew she wanted to ask. "How… old are you?"

"Seventeen."

She wanted to laugh at the older woman's dumbfounded expression, she really did. It was clear that Lori and the rest of the foster parents had assumed 'Mama' was a pedophile or cold-blooded sociopath who thought nothing of selling children's bodies for a few quid. To find out that not only was Jen actually a former employee, but in Muggle society she was still a child herself?

She was a terrible person, but it was an amusing life nonetheless.

Lori shook her head clear. "That doesn't explain what you're doing all the way out here. I know Paula sent you a letter inviting you to come, and obviously you got it. Why wouldn't you want to see them?"

"Because it's better for them that I don't." She waved her hand in their direction, towards the laughter and the joy. "Look at them. They're happy. They're safe. They have so many opportunities before them that they've never had before. I was their teacher and their protector back when it was just us against the world, but now they have better lives, and it isn't like I can show them the ropes for that kind of life. I wouldn't even know where to start." Her eyes stung, but she did nothing to stop the tears she felt sliding down her cheeks. "They don't need me looking out for them anymore."

"You really love them, don't you?" Lori asked softly.

"Of course I do. They're my kids."

"I think," began Lori, "that they would have very different opinions of whether they still need you if you asked them. They're your kids, but that goes both ways. You're their mother. Even if you couldn't teach them anything else, I think they would still want you with them."

Jen had nothing to say to that. Lori stood and held out her hand. She stared at the offered hand and rolled the options around in her head for far longer than it should have taken before she finally reached out and accepted.

They walked down a small hill towards the mass of playing children without being spotted, and only when they were nearly there did Lori call out. "Paula! I think you forgot someone!"

The shout drew the kids' attention as well as the adults', and Jen rolled her eyes. There was no need to make a spectacle of this. Several of the children grew huge smiles, but it was little Lara who led the charge with an earth-shaking war cry. "Mama!"

A second later, she fell backwards under the weight of her kids all tackling her at once.

* * *

"…and thus it deceives their mind into turning your words into an unintelligible buzzing."

"But wouldn't that just alert whoever it is walking past that there is a privacy spell in effect? It sounds, if you'll pardon the pun, that a simple silencing charm would be the superior choice."

"If you were in a room previously undetected, you would be correct. Where this spell excels is when you need to have a conversation in plain sight of others as the buzzing distracts anyone who might otherwise be able to read lips—"

The door to Snape's office opening cut off the discussion regarding the merits of the _Muffliato_ charm, and Jen looked over at the interlopers only to see Moody and Savage walking in. What in the world were two Aurors doing here? She hadn't performed any dark magic recently, and while it was possible that they had figured out it was her who caused the drunken DMLE workers to start a brawl on the Solstice, she would have expected them to come after her sooner.

"What are you doing here, Moody?" Snape demanded with a stormy scowl.

The disfigured old wizard swept his namesake prosthetic around the room. "Came to talk to you about something, Snape, but now I'm wondering if I shouldn't be asking about something else. An old Death Eater and a known dark witch hiding in a room together doesn't fill me with confidence."

"Of course it's going to sound bad when you phrase it that way, Professor Moody," she said, cutting off whatever retort Snape was about to launch. "It is much more innocent. I have an interest in spell creation, so Professor Snape was showing me the structure and methodology he used when he invented a few minor hexes when he was a student."

Snape flicked his eyes at her and frowned but did not contradict her. That was not quite the truth, but not so far off either. As repayment for teaching the second-year Lions and Snakes in his stead every Friday, he had agreed to spend a couple of hours every few weeks showing her all sorts of spells of the darker variety, his own inventions and those he had picked up elsewhere. The Aurors would never know the difference, however, because thanks to her peculiar way of casting spells, the wand motions and incantations he had written down did nothing for her. He wound up either casting the spell for her to copy or, as they had found to be more engaging, running through the arithmantic theory behind the spells so she could figure them out herself as they had been doing before being barged in on.

Moody narrowed his human eye at her in suspicion, but Savage relaxed a little at her explanation. Likely the blonde witch had decided that it was a good enough excuse that they did not need to upset the delicate truce that was currently in effect. "If you say so," Moody finally said, then turned his attention back to the potions master. "Want to pick your brain for a minute, Snape. What exactly did you do for Voldemort back when you were still playing a spy?"

The dour wizard shifted a distrustful gaze between the pair for a moment, but eventually he replied, "In addition to feeding them false information about what the Order was up to, I spent most of my time in a lab brewing a variety of restoratives. Pepper-Ups, burn salves, blood replenishers, Skelegro. Some poisons and sedatives here and there. Why?"

"Was wondering why he'd go out of his way to kidnap Slughorn. Sounds like you were giving him everything he wanted."

That blandly worded comment caused Snape to bristle, but he kept his temper mostly in check. "I can think of a few reasons he would take Horace. First, he suspected that I was a spy but could not prove it; a prisoner could not report what he saw to his enemies. Second, Horace could be forced to spend every waking moment brewing, unlike my own assignments. Third, and most worrying, he is one of the few wizards in the country who is capable of brewing Felix Felicis. Liquid Luck." A small shudder raced down Jen's spine, and from the look on Moody and Savage's faces, they felt the same. Snape nodded. "Should the Dark Lord have even a single day of perfect luck, the results would be disastrous."

"Why wouldn't he have that already? He's had Slughorn for months now," asked Savage.

"Because Felix Felicis is not something you can brew over a weekend. It requires several very volatile ingredients added at precise timings, and it takes six months to complete. At best, it should be about two-thirds of the way done right now."

Moody grunted. "Back up a bit. You said you needed to make a bunch of medical potions for them. Why those and not more poisons or explosives or something?"

"There were needed. Healing magic is not light magic, despite rumors you may hear from the less educated, but it is still a demanding art and not something any of the Death Eaters would spend their time learning. Potion-based healing was therefore the best alternative."

"So what I'm hearing is if they lost Slughorn, those bastards would have problems they wouldn't be able to solve. That about right?" Moody asked.

Snape nodded.

"That is all well and good, but Slughorn is still in Voldemort's clutches," Jen pointed out. Moody's expression was studiously blank, and that was the final piece of the puzzle she needed. "You aren't speaking hypothetically about going after him, are you? You know where he is."

"We don't know exactly where he is, but we're getting close. A couple of the Unspeakables have been scrying for different places the Death Eaters pop up to see if they can't figure out where Voldemort's made his main base, but it's under enough protective enchantments that they're having to work indirectly. Another couple of weeks, and they think they'll have tracked him down."

She tilted her head. "That still leaves the problem of how you plan to sneak into Voldemort's castle, find Slughorn, free him, and then escape, all without getting into a fight that will reveal your location and plan."

"We have a couple of plans for that, but since you're so worried, why don't you lend a hand with it?" Moody looked at Savage and jerked his head to tell her to head out, then he turned back to Jen. "Thanks for the help, Snape. Black, let's take a walk."

"You expect a great deal if you think I can hide however many people you intend to send on this rescue mission of yours," she said once they had wandered to another room in the dungeons. "Not to mention, you'd have to convince them all that they can trust an undertrained dark witch. You might encounter some resistance to that."

"Don't need you with the rescue team. What I thought you might like to do is set up a distraction for them. Keep everyone busy, maybe bloody their noses a bit. Or kill 'em if you can. Wouldn't say no to that."

No, she did not think he would. Ending the war in one fell swoop, and as part of a distraction? That had a delicious sort of irony. If it were someone else proposing it, she might even agree to it immediately, but it was not someone else. "For someone who was interrogating me about my intentions a couple of weeks ago, you're giving me a lot of trust right now. Why?"

Moody glanced around himself and her with his mad eye. "I care about one thing right now, Black. Ending this bloody war and putting the Ministry back together again. To do that, I need more wands fighting for us and fewer fighting for him. The longer this goes on, the less I find myself caring about the hows involved.

"Get rid of his support is easy. Arrest them, kill them if we need to. Getting more support for our side is harder. Morale's down, been down ever since Potter was captured. At first it was just the Order, but some idiot spilled the fact that there was a prophecy about him and Voldemort, and that made everyone else worry there was no way to win this war.

"I thought about painting you as a back-up 'Chosen One'—"

"That is _never_ going to happen," she interrupted, her voice like steel. "Any plan you have that involves telling the world I'm the Potters' daughter, get rid of it. I will fight it with everything I have."

"You'd rather watch our country die than admit who your birth parents are?" he asked with a heavy frown.

"When it means putting myself under their thumb, and thereby under Dumbledore's? I'd bugger off to France or Canada or Australia and wash my hands of this war." She could not do such a thing, of course, not with the Baron himself demanding Voldemort's head, but Moody did not need to know that. All he needed to know was that he had to find a different angle to boost morale.

He nodded. "That's about what Sirius told me, too. Good thing I have an alternative, then, and one you might even like."

That piqued her interest.

"Didn't see it myself, but your little fireside show back on the winter solstice has got a lot of tongues wagging. Powerful witch who slaughtered the Death Eaters in Hogsmeade singlehandedly, and she tells the world that she's a priestess of old and terrible gods. That's something new. People aren't sure what to think about it, but that doesn't stop the whispers in the pub and the alleys. Death himself is willing to side with us in this war. That's what they're saying.

"Now that? That I can use."

Jen watched him carefully, waiting for any sign of trickery or deceit. There had to be. There was no way he was actually proposing what she thought he was proposing.

While she stared at him, he stared at her, and he must have found what he was looking for because he nodded once. "Albus mentioned that he thinks your year is good enough to help with the war effort. From what Tonks told me, you're miles away better than the rest. I need you fighting publicly, carving through Voldemort's army like they're nothing, and I need you to get everybody else motivated enough that they'll follow you into hell and back if you told them to. So long as you don't send them after the Ministry, what you do with them afterwards isn't my main concern."

"Let me get this straight. Instead of trying to build morale up by calling me the Chosen One, you want me to help you build morale by serving as the voice of Death to the people." She licked her lips. What he was offering to her was tempting, so very tempting, but that very reason was why she did not trust his bait. "Last time we talked, you didn't sound like you believed in the Old Ways. What caused this sudden change of heart?"

"I don't believe in your Old Ways, Black. Don't _not_ believe in them, either. Haven't seen anything to make me think one way or another." He took a step closer, his eye burning with barely restrained passion. "But here's the thing. I don't need to believe. If you convince people that your god wants Voldemort gone, they'll sign up to fight alongside the Ministry. We beat him and put everything back to rights, we all win. War's over, so the Ministry wins. Britain's free from a murderous Dark Lord, so the Light wins." He raised his hand and jabbed a finger at her. "And you've got a lot of new believers looking to you for guidance, so you win.

"You really want the Old Ways to come back and flourish? You aren't getting a better opportunity than this."

Her mind raced as she tried and failed to find any trap in his offer, and then she smiled, the expression sharp and cruel. "All right, Mad-Eye. If you really want to offer your aid in reviving Death's worship, I won't turn it down. Let me know when the Unspeakables find out exactly where Voldemort is hiding, and I'll give you your distraction."

"You think you can make it in time? I don't want to leave anybody in that son of a bitch's hands any longer than absolutely necessary."

She laughed and tossed her hair. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about that. I already have a few ideas for things I could try."

* * *

Three days later, the groundskeeper of the cemetery in Godric's Hollow went about his daily rounds as usual. He never discovered the theft that had taken place right under his nose.

* * *

The loud chime of Jen's pocket watch caught her by surprise, and she dropped the iron spike with a sigh. In front of her sat a messy hodgepodge of copper wiring and runestones and sea shells, the still-beating heart of a common finch placed prominently in the center. No one who walked in and saw it for the first time would have any clue what it was supposed to do.

She was more concerned with whether or not it would do what it was supposed to do.

A wave of her hand vanished the heart and the corpse, and she disassembled the most important pieces of the device before moving the entire thing into a cabinet. Locking the cabinet came next, both with physical locks and runes, and only when it was protected from outside interference did she leave her lab and lock that too behind her. Perhaps, she admitted to herself as she began the trek to the Transfiguration classroom, she had been a tad bit overambitious with the distraction she had promised Moody. Her basic plan would still work, but while it would get Voldemort's attention, there was no guarantee that it would prevent anyone from discovering the rescue mission. It also would not kill him, which she really and truly wanted to do.

It was too bad hellhounds were out as a possibility. While they would work, they were too difficult to control when her nominal allies were also in the killing field. That, in hindsight, was probably the reason Moody had let slip the fact that Dora would be part of the rescue mission.

The door to the classroom swung shut, and McGonagall looked at the assembled NEWT students. "Today, we will continue our work on the transfiguration of disparate elements into a single object. In front of you are more blocks of wood that you will use to transfigure a decorated cabinet. Most of you succeeded last week in creating functional if plain-looking cabinets, so today I want you to also practice using the spells _Textura Aspera_ and _Textura Teres_ , which will roughen and smoothen the surface, respectively. Get a feel for those spells, and see if you can duplicate the effects just with the transfiguration. Adding and changing details with only visualization is an essential aspect of higher levels of transfiguration, and it would behoove those of you who have expressed an interested in the Animagus process to have a good handle on properly detailing what you see in your mind."

Wonderful. More busy work. Jen suppressed a sigh and looked down at the scraps of wood at her desk. She had spent all weekend experimenting with enchanting and dark magic, pushing the boundaries of magic as she knew them… and now she was stuck practicing a task she had mastered years ago. She pulled out her pocket watch and glanced at the hands. Ninety minutes to be wasted that she could use so much more productively.

She glanced back and forth between the watch, the wood, and the witch, and finally her patience snapped. Now was not the time to play aimlessly in the shallows. Standing from her desk, she waved off Morag's questioning look and walked over to the professor. "Can I speak with you privately?" she whispered.

McGonagall eyed her with obvious curiosity, but after a moment she nodded and waved Jen towards the side door that led to her office. A couple of minutes passed before McGonagall, presumably finished quelling the students' chaos for now, joined her. "What's on your mind, Miss Black?"

"I need to take a short break from your class. I have other projects I need to work on that are rather time-sensitive."

The elder witch shook her head. "Miss Black, while I understand that practicing these skills can be boring, a stepwise progression is the quickest and most reliable method by which to master transfiguration—"

A flick of Jen's fingers, and the straight-backed wooden chair flew onto McGonagall's desk, already transformed into a cabinet with crown-molded edges and a fan of lines of the front that all ended in the same lily-like tips that could be found on her curse scar. Jen pursed her lips at that detail, which she had to admit she had not consciously added. Her mental picture had been a faint bas relief of a bouquet of flowers.

McGonagall took in the finished product, her face stuck between irritation of Jen undermining her warning and approval at the assignment being completed so smoothly. "You still used motions to cast the spell," she pointed out once she had regained her mental balance.

"Then please, show me how you would cast this spell sans word, movement, _and wand_."

"You do have a point there, I suppose. Still, as fine as your magic is, there is much to learn in this field that we have not yet covered."

Jen closed her eyes so McGonagall could not see them roll. "I am aware of that, Professor. It is why I am not asking to drop the class. I merely have something I need to finish within the next few weeks."

"What kind of project is this, then? You have yet to give me any details that might help your case for being excused."

"The details, Professor McGonagall, are confidential," she said with a sly smile. "It was requested of me by the DMLE for one of their operations. That is all I am permitted to explain."

The last bit of that was of course a lie, as Moody had not forbidden her from revealing anything, but McGonagall was deep in Dumbledore's camp. Word of her classified project would reach his ears soon enough, and the idea that the budding Dark Lady he was so worried about her becoming was being not just tolerated by the Ministry but was being actively contracted to help them out? Oh, that would tweak his nose something fierce.

McGonagall still looked unsure, and Jen held her temper in check. A few days' absence, was that really too much to ask? What else did the professor need to see to end this debate?

There was a prize McGonagall had offered multiple times over the year, a prize Jen already had and had surpassed. A prize McGonagall offered so much because of her own pride in it. "A few days isn't that much to ask for, is it? Once my project is complete, I'll come back. Except for any days you spend on the Animagus process; that one I'll probably skip as well. It's not like it will help me claim a second animal."

McGonagall stared at her. "You're already an Animagus?" Was that doubt in her voice? Of all the things she could doubt, it was this? "Show me."

If she wanted a demonstration, Jen would be happy to give her one. The only question was what form she would take. Normally when she shapeshifted, she chose the limitless freedom offered by a raven's body, not to mention the connection she shared with Loki. Just because that was her preferred form, though, did not mean it was the only one she possessed, nor was it the best transformation every time. Right now, she wanted McGonagall to go along with her demands, and the easiest way to do that was to reinforce similarities. Sharing the same inner animal would go a long way in that direction. And now that she thought about it, her family already believed that was her Animagus form, so a passing comment with the wrong person would not expose the depths of her ability.

Bracing her hand on the desk, she leapt onto it with four paws, and then she seated herself primly and wrapped her tail around her legs.

Jen was not quite sure what the expression that passed over McGonagall's face while she stared at the black cat on her desk meant, but whatever it was was gone in a flash. "Impressive, Miss Black," the woman said at last. "How long have you been capable of this?"

"Mrrrow."

That earned an unamused scowl from the woman, and Jen hopped off the desk and back into her birth skin with a chuckle. "A couple of years, actually. I was envious of Animagi and the fact they could roam around without anyone being the wiser, so I tried transfiguring bits of myself here and there until I found a form that just felt right. Once I did that, it was just a matter of practicing until I could manage the full transformation."

"I see. You know what that means, though, I hope." Reaching into a drawer of her desk, McGonagall riffled around until she pulled out a sheet of parchment. "All Animagi are required to register our forms with the Ministry."

"…Really?"

"Yes, Miss Black, really." Taking in her obviously displeased expression, McGonagall sighed. "I know, it seems pointless and tedious, but it is not without cause. There were a number of Animagi over the last few centuries who used the very fact that they would be overlooked to commit crimes, ranging in severity from burglary to kidnapping to rape to murder. By registering your form and any distinguishing marks, not only does it protect other people from unscrupulous Animagi, it also protects us should people claim that we broke the law as we can show that the animal our accusers saw has different markings than we do or even that it was a completely different species."

"Is now really the best time, though? Considering we're in the middle of a war?" she asked.

Strangely, that caused a faint smile to appear on the older witch's face. "Perhaps you're right. The Ministry does have a few more important things to worry about right now than who can turn into what creature. Fill it out for me, and I can keep it to myself until a legitimate government has been reestablished.

"Oh, and Miss Black?" Jen glanced up from where she was bent over to start filling in the form, her chair still in the form of a cabinet. McGonagall was still smiling, which was odd for the normally overly serious woman. "As a fellow feline, let me be the first to officially welcome you into the sisterhood of the Animagus."

* * *

**Disclaimer: I've never been to Ruskin Park, but I needed a park in London for the Candyland kids to go. Ignore any obvious differences with reality.**

**I find it amusing sometimes to label scenes with alternate titles in my head, as I've mentioned before. This chapter has some good ones:**

" **In which a stranger and a serial killer bond over children playing in the snow."  
** " **In which the government makes a death cult their national religion."  
** " **In which two cats have a chat."**

**Don't ask what's wrong with me. It's what** _**isn't** _ **wrong with me that's the real question. :D**

**Silently Watches out.**


	24. The Assault

**Lance Corporal Avocado:** Very few people know that black magic comes from the Dark Powers. They think it is just extremely powerful dark magic that almost nobody knows about.

 **Secundum:** No one knows what the Powers look like in truth except the Powers themselves. They tend to change their forms based on the culture of the avatar.

 **EEKtheCat** : The fan art that's been made doesn't _exactly_ match what I envision, but I am nowhere near artist enough to draw Jen myself.

* * *

**Chapter 24  
** **The Assault**

Passing a few sickles across the bar, Jen took the steaming mug of mulled cider from Madam Rosmerta. Not that the pub owner knew who she was with her facial features transfigured into an unremarkable mask. Right now, she was just another paying customer, another nobody turning to the Three Broomsticks for warmth and a moment to pretend that everything was back to normal.

Her disguise faded away once she was leaning against the upstairs railing and looking out at the small clumps of people scattered around the ground floor. She needed this too, though not for the same reason they did. They thought tomorrow would be no different from today, that the war would keep going the way it had been for the last several months.

None of them knew that tomorrow, the Aurors would storm Voldemort's dungeon.

She still had no clue how that was supposed to happened. Dora, her normal source for information regarding the activities of the DMLE, had been unusually tight-lipped about it. Operational security, her cousin had told her. Nor did she understand why, if they knew where he was, the Ministry was not choosing to throw everything they had at the building and bring it down around his ears. Even if it did not kill him, it would definitely wipe out the Death Eaters with him, and it was not as if Voldemort could utilize Slughorn's brewing talents if the potions master was dead, now could he?

Unless they were worried that even with every wand they could gather they still would not be able to assemble a force large enough to hold off his reinforcements while they either bombarded the building to smithereens or put his Death Eaters to the sword?

Jen sighed and took a long pull from her cider. Fine. _Fine_. If the Aurors wanted to keep her in the dark, that was their decision. They did not and would never know the details of her own piece in the plan, either. Her distraction, if it could even be called that by now, was nearly complete. All it needed was one last step, and then she could make her own attempt at assassinating a Dark Lord. Would it work? She hoped so.

Would it put him off balance? Oh, would it ever.

A faint smile curled her lips, and then she heard voices rising from below her. "So what?!" one man shouted, standing up from his chair. "How long has the Ministry been stuck in this castle with us? Six months! It took them six months to take back one little town right next to the castle. How long do you really think they'll need to reclaim the whole bloody country from You-Know-Who, huh? Will it even be in our lifetimes? I don't really think so. I don't think they'll even be able to succeed. All we're doing is dragging out the inevitable."

"And the alternative is what?" was the demand from the other man at the table. "We lay back and let the Death Eaters go ahead and murder us? Offer ourselves up on a silver platter? No, I'll pass on that. The Ministry took their sweet time to start fighting back, I'll give you that one, but now that they've started they have some momentum behind them." He leaned closer, and Jen cast a quick charm on the table to carry their words to her ears. "I've even heard a couple of rumors that they're planning something big. I couldn't get much in the way of details, but just the fact that they're being so quiet about everything makes me thing it's going to really cause You-Know-Who problems."

"Or they're being so quiet because this all they could do and they don't want the rest of us to find out."

"You're impossible. Alice, what do you think?"

The lone witch at the table sat quietly for a moment. "I hate to say it, Chris, but I don't believe in the Ministry enough anymore to have confidence in their ability to save us." The first wizard let out a self-satisfied huff, but she continued, "That said, I also don't believe that we're entirely without hope. There is Lady Black to consider."

 _Oh_. Now things were getting interesting.

"You say the Ministry is helpless, and you want to rely on a child to save us?"

"How different is it really from your old confidence in the Boy-Who-Lived, hmm? At least Lady Black has _done_ something. Even the DMLE admits she's the one who liberated Hogsmeade. I don't know what I feel about the people claiming that she is some kind of priestess or something, but it sounds like she has the magic to end this war if nothing else."

"Sure," scoffed the first man, "we just need to believe that death is a god and wants to put Bones back in charge the country. Give me a break."

"Death cares not for what man or woman rules this land." Everyone whipped their heads around to watch her slowly walk down the stairs. Rosmerta was not the only one blinking as they realized that nobody had seen her come in, making it look instead as though she had simply appeared from midair despite there being wards up to prevent such a thing from happening. "That would be like saying a wizard cares about which ant in a mound is the best tracker. Humanity, looked at on an individual level, is more or less beneath Death's notice. There are some six billion people on this earth, magical and Muggle together. What is one average man amongst that horde?

"There are only two instances in which Death pays close attention to the actions of humans. The first is when people faithfully call upon him. The prayers of his worshippers reach his ears, and to them he will turn his mercy. He has no reason not to, not when their faith pleases him.

"The second is when a human does something that kindles his rage."

She had her audience's full and undivided attention now, so rather than immediately continue she strolled the rest of the way from the stairwell to the bar and slid her goblet to Rosmerta with a nod of thanks. Considering the bar's owner had no idea she had been there, she would be surprised if the woman knew exactly what her nod was for. A bar stool made for a convenient perch, and she sat upon it and only then looked fully at the rest of the patrons.

"Death is willing to help us overthrow the Dark Lord, but it isn't because Britain is worthy of his aid. It isn't because there are a number of his followers in this country who have prayed to him for help, for the Old Ways have been strangled by vehement nonbelievers like Dumbledore and the Longbottoms and the Potters who see simple faith as proof that somebody is evil. No, the reason he is willing and even eager to help is that he wants the Dark Lord to die so he can express the full breadth of his displeasure upon the man.

"Few know the depths of wickedness He-Who-Must-Be-Named has fallen to, but just what you do know should make it obvious why Death considers him to be an abomination and a stain upon the mortal plane. Raising the dead as Inferii, perverting the normal cycle of life and death." Now that was a stretch considering the black magic the Baron provided included various acts of necromancy, but there was no reason for these people to know that. If anything, it would paint the worship of Death as opposed to black magic in the eyes of a certain paranoid one-eyed Auror when he inevitably heard about this performance. "Such a thing alone would earn his ire, but the Dark Lord took it a step farther even than that. He went and mutilated his very soul, becoming something similar to and yet different from a ghost in order to prevent himself from moving on from this world and to permit his Death Eaters to resurrect him.

"This goes beyond simple evil, my friends. This is dark magic so heinous that no one with even a shred of morality or common sense would be able to seriously consider going through with it. He spits in the eye of Death and sets himself up to be seen as equal to a god. He will die. It is only a matter of whether Britain will benefit from it or be burnt alongside him."

Her warning words earned her some mutters, but only a few were brave enough to speak up against her. "How would we be hurt if your god killed You-Know-Who?" demanded one man.

Another, the wizard who had first attracted her attention with his shouting, scoffed. "We wouldn't. If your death god wanted You-Know-Who dead, why didn't he kill him himself and spare us all the trouble?"

A soft, seemingly friendly smile grew on her face. It was time for a little history lesson, wasn't it? "Do you know the last time Death directly intervened in killing someone who had angered him? It was the Dark Lady Trionfante, a fourteenth-century necromancer from Sicily who raised an army of the dead with which to take over Italy. His response was to grant resistance from all Muggle and magical methods of healing to a plague that was already present in Asia. It was carried by rats to the trading city of Messina, where it ravaged the population of first the city and then the island and killed Trionfante in the process. This plague then spread across Europe, and wizards along with Muggles were wiped out as his weapon ran its due course. The additional fatalities Death saw as collateral damage and nothing to concern himself over.

"I am speaking, obviously, of the Black Plague that eliminated half of the population of Europe in the span of four short years."

The people closest to her paled dramatically, and she could feel with her sonar that it was not a limited reaction. Her smile no longer looked so kind. "I don't know about you, but I would prefer not living through that sort of hell. It is why I have begged Death not to act against You-Know-Who personally on more than one occasion. For now he is willing to stay his hand, but I cannot promise that will last."

"You're doing a piss poor job of helping end this without him," the argumentative wizard spat out. "All these months, and you've managed to do what? Liberate one village? So much for being able to help us."

He was clearly spoiling for a fight, and instead of engaging him she all but laughed in his face. "You think Hogsmeade was the first time I have hindered the Dark Lord's plotting? Ha. It is merely the most blatant. My other actions have all been far more subtle.

"But if it is public demonstrations of power you so desire, you need not wait for long. My time in the shadows is nearly over."

* * *

Jen wiped the last drops of water off her project, working carefully around the bits of dirt and mold she wanted to keep. There was something visceral and disturbing about rot and decay, and for all that Voldemort liked to think of himself above such petty mortal instincts, they were still present in the depths of his mind. No one with such an all-consuming fear of death could be without them. It was just a matter of dragging them to the surface.

He wanted to take pride in his acts of reanimation, in his zombie blitzes of London and Hogwarts? He wanted to revel in his mastery over death and the dead? Let him laugh and smirk. It was long past time for someone to show him just what a real Voodooist was capable of.

The body now ready, she turned her attention from the chassis to the fuel. A light step carried her from the ritual circle dug into the dirt floor that circumscribed the cadaver and the table it lay upon and across the intersection to the middle of another circle. In this ring were only three objects. Her bone dagger was one, and she picked it up and raised it to the throat of the second. The man hung unconscious by his feet; he was a last-minute acquisition, a member of Voldemort's revamped Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It amused her that rather than a random Muggle as was her first thought, it would instead be a replacement for the Aurors that distracted the Death Eaters from the infiltration of his predecessors. Laying her lips against his, she sucked away the air in his lungs in the instant before her blade sliced through his throat. His blood poured freely from the incision and into the third and last object, a clay bowl filled with dirt taken from the cadaver's place of death.

The blood was still flowing when she pulled the bowl out from beneath the stream. She did not need all his blood, just enough to mix the dirt into a nice, thick paste. The burning she could feel in her own lungs may have played some small role in her haste as well. Her fingers quickly smeared streaks of bloody mud under the body's eyes and down to his heart. Or, rather, where his heart would be. In this case, she instead had to swirl her hand around and around the iron spike stabbed into his chest. The mud puckered over the large Y-shaped incision she had needed to carve into him to fit everything, but a quick look and she nodded. It was not perfect, but it should not create much of a problem.

Zombies could last for years or even decades, as Alain was a good though unconventional example of, but that required a number of other rituals and processes that she had little interest in performing at this moment. She did not want a permanent zombie companion in general, and even if she did, she did not plan for this particular zombie to last the day. That would defeat its purpose entirely.

Her lungs were truly starting to ache now, and she opened the corpse's mouth and transferred that breath of life into it. Magic flowed along with the mix of gases, and through her sonar she felt the power circulate through bone and sinew as a primitive and subservient intelligence took root. Cloudy hazel eyes opened, and the zombie pushed itself into a sitting position.

At first glance, it was not that frightening a creation. The corpse she had chosen was an older man, though not yet elderly by wizarding standards. It was also showing its age, the man to whom it had once belonged dead for sixteen years already. Under any other circumstances, this was not the body she would have preferred, but two years ago Voldemort had made a very specific claim. He had said that it was not Danny who had defeated him in 1981; it had been this man. She planned to make him eat those words.

Looking over him again, she smiled. "It's nice to finally meet you… Grandfather."

The body of Charlus Potter did not respond, not that she expected it to do so. The method of animation she had used was the same one that served as the first step in creating a docile housekeeper or farmhand. She needed this zombie without intelligence. It would make her plan run that much more smoothly if she did not have to fight against its own primitive thought processes.

Besides, if he could know what she had planned, she was fairly sure he would agree with her motives if not her methods.

She hopped out of the complicated design scratched into the dirt floor of Elsie's old Cardiff house to retrieve a pot and then went back inside. Firewalking Philter was not a potion she had heard about before this year, but it apparently gave the drinker the same properties as the flame-freezing charm for approximately an hour. That was useless to her on its own considering that imbibed potions drew the necessary magic from the drinker's magical core, which was found in the soul and therefore was something that zombies did not have, but once mixed with Thickening Solution it became an activated paste she could spread over Charlus's body.

Long minutes passed where she did her best not to repeatedly check the clock she had moved into the basement with her. Dora had mentioned that the Aurors planned to move out at 9:30, and she wanted her distraction to start right after their arrival. Once the body was liberally covered with the fireproofing paste, she dressed him in a robe and trousers and fastened a transfigured sword and heavy gauntlet onto his hands.

"There we go. That should do it," she muttered to herself. A portkey was the last thing she needed, and the rope necklace went over his head. It had taken longer than she wanted to convince Moody to create a portkey in front of her, but once he had she had used it to get a good look at the area. It also meant she could create her own now, which would undoubtedly be convenient soon enough.

With everything completed, she made her way to the last circle, one that intersected the others and made a triangle of sorts of linked rings. A large cuneiform symbol sat in the middle, linked to another symbol beneath Charlus's table, and she carefully laid her naked body on top of it to avoid smudging and ruining it. Already she could feel the magic of the enchantment reaching for her, and instead of resisting she sank into its grasp and let it pull her out of her body.

She opened her eyes and looked out at the blurry walls of the basement. "Be. Gon. Ne," she rasped, the deep voice nothing like her own. It was enough to trigger the portkey, though, and a phantom sensation rippled through her as she was transported to a grassy knoll.

A short distance in front of her sat a castle, specifically Bowes Castle in County Durham. The castle was something of a tourist attraction, which explained all the people walking around its grounds, but that was not her destination. No, she sought the _real_ castle, hidden from Muggle eyes by a suite of charms and wards not unlike those that made Hogwarts look like an untrustworthy ruin. This castle was a historic landmark in wizarding history, where English and Scottish wizards formed a truce between themselves while William Wallace was stirring up rebellious sentiment among his fellow Muggles.

That said, Jen doubted it was the castle's reputation that made Voldemort choose it as his base of operations. More likely it was the strategic value. Bowes Castle was roughly halfway between London and the Hogwarts, and as a castle itself it was a bold mirror of Hogwarts, the former seat of power of his chief opponent Dumbledore. By the Baron, he was going to hate being driven out of it.

"Time. For. Some. Fun."

* * *

Voldemort looked over the map he had set on top of a table with disgust. Taking control of Britain was all but over now that Dumbledore and Bones were all but confined within Hogwarts. Even with them having reclaimed Hogsmeade, they had yet to make significant progress anywhere else. He did not even need to devote his full strength to smoking them out; the sheer number of mouths they had to provide for meant that he could simply starve them into submission.

Britain was his now. Actually ruling it was supposed to be the _easy_ part.

His eyes drifted along the conjured and colored statuettes he had taken to using to mark the various forces and resistance fighters scattered around the country. The black masks of his Death Eaters were still the most numerous pieces, but that was not his concern. The harpy had been moved from the southern mountain ranges in Scotland to central England and had been recolored grey to signify the fact that they had decided to renege on their agreement and started preying on whomever took their fancy, his enemies and supporters alike. He had held off on culling them for the simple fact that he had gone through so much trouble to get them on his side as air support, but now they were becoming more trouble than they were worth. So too were the vampires, and with a disgruntled huff he changed the upright coffin from black to red.

The werewolves and trolls were still cooperating, but they were blunt weapons at best. The vampires allowed strikes of more precision.

Then there were the rebels. Not a unified group, thankfully, not as far as he could tell, but they were springing up all over the country. London, Devon, Yorkshire, Edinburgh, Dublin, Cardiff. None of them were trained fighting forces, but they did not have to be. They had taken a page out of his own book and embraced guerrilla tactics, Apparating in wherever his forces had gathered in any significant strength before unleashing hailstorms of curses and explosives and then Disapparating. His men had captured some of the rebels early on, which is how he knew there were multiple independent groups, but now they did not even stay long enough to see if their attacks had been successful, let alone be captured for interrogation.

It was because of Thaddeus Nott and Avery. He had no doubts about that. Were it up to him, he would have Lucius running the day to day activities of the Ministry, but with his left-hand man dead by either some undiagnosed malady or more likely having been killed by Bellatrix – though he could not prove that one way or another, not even through trying and then failing to plumb the depths of the madwoman's mind – he was left with little choice but to put the seat of his new government into their hands. That explained why there was now a Department of Inquisition, much as he regretted having to think about that. It was every Muggleborn and Muggle-lover's nightmare come to life, even including an ugly toad-like witch running it.

That was the problem with fanatics, wasn't it? They inevitably acted out on their fanaticism, and always at the exact wrong time. Had they just waited for a year or so until his takeover of the country was incontestable, he would have let them purge the useless majority of the Muggleborns and leave only the best and brightest for breeding stock. A slow culling, quiet enough that no one would protest it. Especially not if they also released propaganda in the interim about the evils of the Muggles and their children. Demonizing a minority group always made it easier to isolate and then eliminate them, but of course his followers were too impatient to look at anything but the very next step in the process.

He rubbed his temples to stave off the building headache, and of course that was when the shouting started. He stormed out of his strategy room and into the main hall of the castle, and his eyes widened when he saw the firestorm waiting for him. "What is going on here?!" he demanded.

"Inferius!" one man shouted. "It won't bloody die!"

The fire curses trailed off, and Voldemort looked at the nearly molten floor and the figure standing untouched in the middle. The robe had been all but burnt off, and the weapons he carried were warped and twisted by the heat, but his flesh itself was unblemished by the flames. Even with the rot that had set in, the Inferius was familiar even if Voldemort could not put his finger on exactly who it was. The walking corpse looked over at him.

"Vol. De. Mor. T."

…It spoke.

The Inferius _spoke_.

That was impossible. Inferii did not have a soul within their bodies to permit higher mental functions like speech. He had made enough of them recently to know that, and those were stupid creatures even with shards of his own soul animating them. Yet somehow this Inferius had stormed into his castle and could talk like a living man.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he shouted at the creature.

"You. Came. Back. From. The. Dead." The body raised its weapons and howled, "And. Now. So. Have. _I_!"

With those words ringing in everyone's ears, the Inferius leapt into action. It moved far faster than a dead thing should as it dashed at the nearest Death Eater, and the fires once again did nothing to it before it brought its weapons to bear and bashed the wizard's head in. That scared the other Death Eaters, and now that they knew fire was ineffective they would be intelligent and—

No, never mind. They had defaulted to Killing Curses, which would make great sense except for the small problem that this thing was _already dead_.

While part of Voldemort's mind wrestled with the idea of letting this thing kill a few more idiots – which he knew was not a good idea considering the myriad of threats at his doorstep, but it was nonetheless oh so tempting – the rest was already moving his wand. He had no idea why fire was not working, but he highly doubted it was due to a general immunity to damage. A metal spearhead was conjured and launched, and the Inferius stumbled when the projectile found its mark and buried itself into the body's gut.

"Vol. De. Mor. T. You. Will. Pay!"

' _Try whatever you like, Voldemort! You will fail! You will not harm these children!'_ Words from a lifetime ago rattled in his head, and he took another look at the reanimated old man. "Charlus… Potter?" he whispered to himself.

No. It couldn't be. That was impossible. Charlus Potter was dead. He had killed the man with his own hands, on that Halloween night when he nearly lost everything.

A shiver ran down his spine. _'You came back from the dead. And now so have I.'_ That could not possibly mean what he thought it meant. Whatever ancient magic Potter had invoked when defending the children destined to become thorns in his side had been spent granting a defense to Daniel Potter so that he could not lay a hand on the boy. There was no way it could evolve now.

Unless… Had his experiments disturbed something? Created an inverse resonance that produced a powerful and related piece of white magic to counter his attempt at a black magic ritual? Could he have accidentally renewed the protections in such a way that it summoned Potter the elder's soul back into his body and turned it into an unkillable lich?

With fear gnawing at his belly, Voldemort rejoined the fray. Rather than conjuration, he lashed out with Reductor Curses, and even with his nerves badly shaken his aim was true. The first spell caught Potter's right hand, reducing it and the hilt of the sword to shards of bone and stone; the second ripped through the left knee. The third and fourth hit the right leg, and without support Potter fell onto his knees.

Voldemort maintained his assault, tearing apart more and more of the corpse until there was little left but a head and torso. He needed answers. He needed proof that he was not going mad.

He stalked up to the limbless corpse and looked it up and down. A strange discrepancy caught his attention, and he blinked in surprise. It had been a solid sixteen years since he had seen or even thought of Charlus Potter, but despite all that he was sure that Potter's eyes were brown or hazel or something along those lines. Not purple. That was a color he associated with Bellatrix. Bellatrix and…

"Very clever, Black," he sneered at the girl who he was sure was in control of the corpse. The eyes sparkled with dark amusement. How she had managed to possess an Inferius, he had no idea, but as the Mongolian black wizard Nergui had made clear, practicing soul magic meant his options were broad but were rarely deep. Black, being a dedicated student of necromancy, undoubtedly knew more tricks about that particularly brand of magic than he did, even considering her young age.

Looking over what was left of the corpse, his eyes and then his hand landed on the black metal rod implanted in its chest. "But not clever enough. I will find you, and then I will make you suffer before you die."

"You. Can. Try."

Those words, so casual an echo of what Potter had said to him in that one last act of defiance, stoked his rage even more. He ripped the spike from the body, and he could have sworn that Black smiled as he did so. There was a click. A tink.

And the world dissolved into agony and the roar of a dragon.

* * *

"Weren't expecting a bomb, were you?"

Jen opened her eyes and stared unseeing at the ceiling for a moment. Building the explosive she had implanted into Charlus's body had been a tricky challenge, but she knew after testing it that the process itself was a success. In her initial experiments, the heart of a common bird provided sufficient charge to power a set of runes that concentrated and released the actual explosion, and an iron spike would inhibit the outward flow of magic so that the explosion grew stronger and stronger the longer the spike was in place. For the actual distraction, however, she had not used a bird's heart. She had instead used up the remaining dragon heartstrings she had recovered back in August.

If anything was a good explosive, it would be something from a dragon.

With a groan, she forced herself to a sitting position. That was as much of a distraction as she could provide. With how close Voldemort was to Charlus's body, he was undoubtedly injured if not dead outright. The Death Eaters nearby were either incapacitated or would be too worried about their fallen leader to do anything but run around like chicken with their heads cut off. She had given Dora and the other Aurors the best possible chance she could to get Slughorn out of Voldemort's hands.

Hopefully everything was working out on their end.

* * *

**Next chapter should** _**hopefully** _ **be out faster than this one was. Unfortunately, I have a great many plot threads out there that need to be tied up, so we'll have to see what falls together and what might need to be dealt with off-screen and just talked about.**

**I only have four pages of notes left for this story. It's getting closer and closer to the end.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	25. Recovery

**Greensword101:** Iron is resistant to magic much as rubber is resistant to electricity. It makes them good insulators for their respective energies. No, the spell Jen used on Hermione won't kill her if she acts against Jen; it literally keeps her from planning to do so.

 **Secundum:** Trionfante is actually another reference to _A Practical Guide to Evil_ , where there is a historical figure named the Dread Empress Triumphant who had an army of undead. For the purposes of this story, yes she was a soul mage.

**This chapter has one of those emotional scenes that is hard to read. It was no easier to write.**

* * *

**Chapter 25  
** **Recovery**

A roar like a dragon's rattled the hallway, and Gabriella raised one eyebrow at Dora. "What did you say your cousin had planned for her distraction, again?"

"I didn't ask." Mostly because Dora had seen Jen's expression whenever the distraction was hinted at, and she knew that any answers she got would be either lies or truths she would have been happier not knowing. That was the problem with having a known and active dark witch in the family. "I don't _think_ she was talking about bringing a dragon over, though."

"Savage, Tonks. Mouths shut, eyes front." Both Aurors turned their attention back to Robards and the corridor they and the other four Aurors were sneaking through. "Nielsen, next corridor."

Dora kept her mouth shut, not that she was happy about it. This was the kind of operation where she would much prefer to have people she trusted at her back, but unfortunately it was also a big enough operation that the only people Bones would permit to lead it were Scrimgeour, the head of the DMLE, and Robards, the Chief Auror. Scrimgeour she would have followed to the gates of hell and back.

Robards she had her concerns about. He was incredibly by-the-book, inflexibly so, and not the kind of person she preferred leading a mission where one false move could get them all killed or worse.

Nielsen slipped ahead slightly and cast a spell to let him peek around the corner without sticking his head out into cursing range. "Silent as the grave, boss, just as we expected."

No one had to think very hard to figure out why. Jen's distraction was proceeding as planned, but that did not mean they could dawdle. They needed to find Slughorn and get him out before they ran out of time.

This infiltration had been a joint effort between the Aurors and the Unspeakables, and while the cloaked and faceless researchers had been characteristically tight-lipped about their work, they had been forced to explain at least some of the details. This castle Voldemort had claimed was apparently protected from scrying or any other method of remote viewing, so instead of looking for him directly the Unspeakables had assembled a couple of teams to constantly keep eyes on individual Death Eaters who were not so well protected. It had taken time, but eventually one of the Death Eaters they were watching had Apparated to just outside the castle and given the Unspeakables the chance to look everywhere but the castle and figure out where it was.

That was the easy part. The hard part was finding Slughorn, and that was left to the Aurors, although the Unspeakables had still leant a hand there, too. When Robards had been picked to lead the mission, he had been given a fat, pale grey candle that the Unspeakables refused to light until it was time for them to move out. That candle was their skeleton key, enchanted to shield a small area from any and all wards so they could slip in and out without being noticed. The downside was that said shield only lasted as long as the candle burned, and the more people within its effect the faster the wax melted.

Hopefully, between Jen distracting the guards and the candle befuddling the wards, they would be in and out before anyone knew they were there. All that had to happen was for nothing to go wrong.

"Wish we had a map," she muttered to herself. That was the worst part of this infiltration; they were on the clock and yet were reduced to blind searching, their eyes constantly checking the candle to make sure it had not guttered out.

Lady Luck must have heard her, because the next corner Nielsen checked led to another corridor, this one covered with doors on each wall. "Keep together," Robards ordered. "We'll check them two at a time. Don't go too far away from me."

The corridor was narrow enough that no one had to take too many steps to open the doors and look inside. On the plus side, behind the doors were tiny rooms that would definitely qualify as medieval prison cells. On the minus side, they were empty.

Were there multiple prisons in this castle? Was Slughorn not kept prisoner here in the castle? Was he kept prisoner here but was at the moment working in some potions lab under Death Eater guard?

…Was he even a prisoner at all, or was he perhaps working with the Death Eaters of his own free will? Snakes of a scale slithered together, after all.

Dora banished that ugly thought just in time for Sizemore to open another door and take a quick step back. "Found him," she said with a relieved grin.

She had never met Horace Slughorn personally, but they had all looked at pictures of the man so they would know who they were searching for. This did not match those pictures in the slightest. Instead of an obese old man with a glorious and well-groomed mustache, the figure in the cell had stick-thin limbs and a disheveled beard hiding his lower face. He still had excess weight hanging in front of him, so he was not completely emaciated, but it was clearly only the last remnants of a much bigger belly that was slowly losing the fight against starvation.

Robards slipped into the cell, the other Aurors following closely, and knelt on the floor next to where the old man lay. "Horace Slughorn?"

The voice roused the man, and he looked up at the steel-haired Chief Auror. "…You aren't a Death Eater," he finally said in a soft, slow voice, almost as though he were confused about whether what he saw was real or a dream.

"Minister Amelia Bones sends her regards. She thought you might be here. We're taking you back to Hogwarts with us."

"Hogwarts…? Yes. Hogwarts." Slughorn rolled onto his back and lifted hands that were bound together with iron manacles. "But…"

Gabriella jabbed her wand at the manacles with a whispered " _Alohamora_ ," and the shackles popped open and fell to the ground. She gave Dora and Sizemore, the two youngest Aurors present, a wink. "Never underestimate the basics."

Nielsen and Proudfoot lifted the elderly professor, and that motion stirred his thoughts again. "The boy. The boy."

"What?" asked Robards. He looked just as confused as Dora felt at the sudden statement. "What boy?"

"The boy. Bring the boy. He screams. No boy should scream like that."

Slughorn could not tell them where this boy of his was, but he could and did point them in the vague direction the supposed screams came from. From there it was just a matter of checking the rest of the cells. Dora did not say what she thought of being sent on this wild goose chase, but she easily found those same thoughts on her team's faces. There was no boy. More likely than not, Slughorn had simply snapped—

"Bloody fuck!" shouted Nielsen as he staggered backwards.

Aurors were made of stern stuff, had to be, but what was waiting for them within that cell was still enough to push Dora to her limits. The brown-haired boy – emaciated and crusted in dirt and blood and filth – did not look up at the sound of the door opening. He did not move from where he was slumped against the back wall. Dora forced her bile down at the sight of such gruesome mutilation. Part of her wondered who this poor sod could possibly be.

The other part had a damned good idea and was terrified she might be right.

Savage swallowed loudly, the sound almost seeming to echo in the little stone room. "Kid? Hey, kid? Can you hear me?"

The voice was enough to rouse him slightly, and he finally tilted his head up. Dora felt her hair go completely white when she met his dull green gaze. After a few seconds, he dropped his head back to his chest.

"We have to move, people," reminded Robards with a look at the candle. "We have less time with eight of us compared to six. Savage, Tonks, bring him with us. Thank Merlin he isn't chained to the wall," the Chief Auror muttered, but not lowly enough to go unheard in this small space.

Probably because nobody needed to chain him up. This wasn't a dangerous prisoner; it was a shell of a human being.

With a steadying breath, she reached down and helped Gabriella pick up what was left of Danny Potter.

* * *

"More essence of dittany."

Severus handed Poppy another vial, barely taking his eyes off Slughorn in the process. The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters had not been kind to his old professor. Slughorn had obviously been starved, but once the dirty smock had been taken off it became clear that he had also been beaten. Not recently, and not constantly if Poppy's diagnostics were to be believed, but it had still occurred.

Why? That was the question that would not stop rolling around in his head. Horace Slughorn was one of Britain's premier potioneers. Why would the Dark Lord permit him to be tortured when he was so necessary?

"Sev… rus…"

He blinked his eyes clear and focused on Slughorn's face. The old man had been unconscious just a few minutes ago, but now his eyes were open. "Severus. It's all right."

"Worry about yourself, Professor. I'm not the one who spent months as the Dark Lord's prisoner." The end of that statement sent a shiver down the man's spine, and his eyes grew distant as he no doubt began remembering the tortures he had gone through. Almost against his will, Severus dropped his hand on top of Slughorn's to give the old man something to focus on. "Why were you mistreated so? It is foolish to injure the same man they needed to work over a cauldron. If—"

His words were interrupted by a dry, mocking laugh. That laugh devolved into a coughing fit, but still a smile stayed on Slughorn's face. "Oh, dear boy. That was why. I refused. You-Know-Who wanted potions of all sorts. Poultices. Poisons. Luck. I refused. His men beat me for that. I would be treated with kindness, he said. All I had to do was do what he told me." Slughorn shook his head. "No. Better to die than murder others."

Poppy bent down and patted his other hand. "It was a brave thing you did."

Severus on the other hand could only stare in shock. Slughorn was many things, but 'brave' was generally not the description he would associate with the old brewer. Ambitious, clever, resourceful? Yes. Lazy, gluttonous, prideful; absolutely. Threatened with pain, Severus honestly would have thought Slughorn would fold like a castle made of paper. Not spend six months being abused and standing resolute throughout it all regardless.

The thin curtain hanging around the bed was pulled open, and a young Auror and a scribe slipped inside. "My apologies for bothering you," the woman in the scarlet cloak said, "but if you're up to it, Mr. Slughorn, we would like to ask you for some of the details about your time in You-Know-Who's headquarters. Any information you can provide that would assist in his defeat would be greatly appreciated."

Slughorn coughed again but waved off Poppy's attempts at ministration. "I'd rather get it over with. Easier to sleep if I've already told them."

Severus tried to pull away, but his hand was now clasped within Slughorn's. His old professor gave him a look, a wordless plea, and he propped his hip on the bed frame.

He owed a great deal to the wizard beside him, not that he would ever admit it. Providing… moral support… was justified recompense, he supposed.

* * *

' _They found your son.'_

There was little Lily could remember between now and hearing that news. She knew she all but flew across the miniature town that had sprouted up on the castle grounds. She knew she ran through Hogwarts with James on her heels. She knew she stormed into the hospital wing. But she could not remember any of the details.

' _They found your son. They found Danny.'_

Madam Pomfrey gave her a small, tight smile when she latched onto the matronly nurse. Something was said, some no doubt comforting platitude, but she did not hear it. All she wanted, all she _needed_ , was to see her son. She had to see him, prove to herself that he was okay.

' _They found your son. They found Danny. He's alive.'_

A wave of magic washed over her mind, and she felt her emotions, just a moment ago so overwhelming, slip away from her fingertips.

"Are you back with us, Lily?" Pomfrey asked, searching her face for something. "I need you here and whole. _Danny_ needs you to keep it together."

"What's wrong?" demanded James. "We were told… What we were told doesn't matter. What's going on?"

The nurse looked back and forth between them, and her voice when she finally answered was hesitant. "He… There is no way to pretty it up, but I think what you need to understand most of all was that he wasn't treated like a guest, or even a prisoner. And he was there for months. James, Lily; I'm sorry to tell you this, but Danny was tortured."

Lily grabbed onto her husband and buried her face in his chest. No. No. Not their baby boy.

' _They found your son. They found Danny. He's alive, but he's been hurt something terrible.'_

Only when she was sure they both had enough of a grasp on their worry and fear did Pomfrey lead them to a bed that had been hidden behind a curtain. Slipping inside, Lily had to hold back her scream of grief and horror. Danny's hand, his entire right forearm, was _gone_. Hacked off and replaced with a cap of burn scars just below the elbow. His ribs poked out of his chest and stretched the skin between them with every raspy breath. What looked like every inch of his skin from his neck all the way down to the soles of his feet was littered with strange, twisted runes. The only part of him that had not been carved into was his face, and that was only so that there would be nothing to detract from the empty socket of what had been his left eye.

His right eye was physically intact, but it was was no longer bright and happy. That beautiful green was shadowed and dulled by the horrors that had befallen him.

"Oh, Danny." She reached out and laid her hand on top of his. A twitch ran through him, but other than that he did not react in the slightest. He did not speak. Did not look at her. He continued to stare sightlessly at the curtain beyond her feet. "Madam Pomfrey, what's wrong with him?!"

He acted like Frank, Neville's father. Dear, caring, funny Frank who had been tortured into catatonic insanity. No, her son could not be like that! She would not let it be so!

"Lily. _Lily_." Hands grabbed her shoulders and shook her from her own distressed fugue. Pomfrey stared at her, almost as if focusing her thoughts with nothing but her own will. "You see what was done to him. The human mind can't take that, not without consequence. Danny has pulled away from the world and is stuck inside his own head. He did it to protect himself from the pain."

Fat, ugly tears rolled down her cheeks.

James's voice was hard and tight. "Can't you do something? Fix it?"

"I'm a school nurse, James. I can heal misapplied transfigurations and minor hexes and jinxes, but the mind? I wouldn't even know where to start."

"You start by convincing him that he is no longer in danger." Lily turned around to see Professor Dumbledore open the curtain and slip inside to the side. "I hope you don't mind my intrusion, but I could not help but overhear what you were saying."

"No, no, it's okay, Professor. We're glad you're here," breathed James with no little relief.

The aging headmaster gave James a small smile before conjuring a chair on the other side of the bed and settling himself into it. "Oh, Danny, my poor boy. What did Voldemort do to you?"

"Do you know… why? All this?" Lily asked with a timid wave at Danny's… everything. "Did he just do it to be cruel, or…?"

"I don't know. Some of it I could see as a precaution should he ever escape. Cutting off his wand hand so he could never fight back. Breaking his mind so he could not be an active hindrance. But the brands? Taking his eye? I just don't know."

She hadn't thought of what losing his hand would mean. Few wizards could cast with their off hand, no matter how much practice was put into it. It would mean that Danny might never be able to use a wand or his magic ever again. He would be crippled in a way beyond just the obvious. His life as a wizard was destroyed.

James cleared his throat. "You said you can help him?"

"I can try, but it will not be easy or gentle." Dumbledore sighed and stroked his beard. "There is a branch of magic, Legilimency, that revolves around entering another's mind. Normally it is used to distinguish truth from lies or ferret out someone's intentions, but taken to its logical conclusion it can be used to pull out and examine people's thoughts and memories. People have a natural wall to keep their thoughts inside their heads, but even just sitting here I can hear Danny's memories of pain. What he went through has reduced that wall to nothing.

"With your permission, I could try entering his mind and coaxing him back to the outside world. It would not be immediate, however, and I cannot make any guarantees. It could succeed fully, it could fail, or anywhere in between."

James pulled Lily close. "Please, Professor. Whatever you can do. Just bring Danny back to us."

For her own part, Lily just hoped Danny would get better, would be able to recognize and respond to them. And hoped that You-Know-Who was suffering for what he did to their son.

* * *

Each and every breath of wind that brushed over Voldemort's body made him want to scream, to plead for relief that would never come. The lights of the candles burned what was left of his skin. He could not see, for his eyes felt as though they were nothing more than chunks of charcoal. He could not hear, for the explosion had ruptured his ears. He could not stand, for not only was the effort of moving itself torture but he could feel the blessed numbness in his extremities that meant both legs and his right hand had been shredded by Black's bloody bomb.

He wasn't going to kill her. That was too easy. He was going to torture her slowly, break her down until there was less inside her head than in those people the Dementors Kissed, and then he was going to cut her into pieces and use her for spare parts. Not even being raised as an Inferius was good enough a punishment for that brat's latest stunt.

Another breeze wafted over him. A twitch of his only intact limb – 'intact' in this case being a relative term – and his fingers sent a message to his thankfully unbroken wand. Though he could not see them, he knew the wand had spat out lines of flame that were now floating in the air before him. His followers would see it and obey. Assuming they could read it, that his spell was legible when he could not see and verify it.

Assuming whomever was moving around was one of his followers.

Assuming his followers did not pounce upon him in this moment of weakness.

Snakes were known to eat their own kind.

Minutes of uncertainty passed like hours until the agonizing wind returned. Something was pressed against the back of his hand, and before whomever it was could change their mind, he lashed out as best he could and grabbed onto it. Working with his staff, the same staff enchanted to ease the process of rasping off flakes of his soul to raise his undead army, had made it simpler and faster for him to tear a scrap off and burn it for the power Nyarlathotep offered. His mind was focused, his intention clear and immediate as it could ever be. For just an instant, he felt as though he were too big for his skin, as though he were overflowing into the whole and hale body whose hand he held.

Then the screaming started in earnest.

It felt like plunging into a lake in the middle of winter, and yet when the waters rolled back they left a soft, clean feeling behind. The ache of movement was lessened. Not gone, but lessened. Turning his head made his face split and crack, and turning again forced one eye out of the gap he had made.

His hand scratched off his face, and he looked for the first time at the charred ruin that was all that was left of his body. Of all that had been left of his body, more accurately, and his shriveled fingertips tore at his chest to reveal smooth, white, undamaged skin underneath.

His torso. His head. His arms, pulling a regenerated right hand out of nowhere as though what he left behind was a clever sleeve. Like the great serpents his ancestor had bonded with, he sloughed off his old and ruined skin. His eyes did not even see the mummified body of the prisoner whose life and strength he had stolen so as to be reborn.

"Report."

The Death Eaters assembled before him took wary steps away, shaken by his newfound ability to ignore and recover instantly from what would have been a fatal attack to anyone else. Indeed, it undoubtedly was to the Death Eaters with him when Charlus Potter's body had exploded. Finally Macnair cleared his throat and said, "My lord, the attack… We think it might just have been a distraction. We went to the dungeons afterwards to force Slughorn to create something to heal you. He's… gone."

"How?! Who?!" Voldemort screamed.

"I don't… The only people it could have been was the Aurors."

Of _course_ they stole his captive! Of all the possible disasters to occur, it had to be—!

"And… er… they took the Potter boy, too."

A harsh huff passed his lips, and Macnair hurriedly backed away. "Well," he finally said, closing his eyes and rubbing them, "at least _something_ went according to plan."

* * *

**Dun dun dun!**

**Silently Watches out.**


	26. The Lost

**the philosopher Anon e moose:** length ∝ free time ∵ RL » FFN, ∴ increased length = increased time

Translation: I only have so much free time to write, so I can either give you shorter chapters faster or longer chapters slower. Take your pick. :-)

**But in all honesty, this chapter took** _**WAY** _ **too long even by my recent standards. I've been writing more frequently on my quest for the sole reason I can bang that out in an hour or two and I don't care as much about quality with that. This I've been working on for the last month in the few periods when I could scrape together a decent stretch of time.**

* * *

**Chapter 26  
** **The Lost**

Jen made her way up the stairs in the dungeons and past the Great Hall. Despite having just finished Potions, which on a Tuesday like today meant it was time for lunch, she kept moving towards the gargoyle guarding the path to the headmistress's office. Goldstein's comment from breakfast had been bouncing back and forth in her head all morning, and by now her curiosity was at a fever pitch.

' _Marchbanks wants to talk to us at lunch. Her office. I don't exactly know why, but she told me and Abbott that it was important.'_

Who was 'us'? A few people, a large group? The latter was more likely as there was little she and Goldstein had in common, but if it was in Marchbank's office it could not be that many people. A dozen at most. A thought crossed her mind, but she dismissed it until she opened the door and proved herself right.

Giving the Head Boy and Girl a nod before settling herself in a chair next to Macmillan. It was not as if she had much choice. Besides the four of them, the only other options were the prefects for Gryffindor, neither of whom she was particularly fond. Of their Slytherin counterparts there was no sign.

The smile the headmistress gave them was weak, and it faded entirely as she turned towards the last person in the room. "The stage is yours, Minister."

"Thank you, Headmistress," Bones replied with a small nod, not at all affected by Marchbank's discomfort. "I'm well aware that you're all curious as to exactly why I had you gathered here, so I will be brief. You and the rest of your yearmates have been trained for the last five months in the practical aspects of group combat. It's time you put those skills to use."

Flicking her wand, Bones conjured a map of the British Isles and tapped a dot in the center of England proper. "Approximately a month or so, the harpies previously under the guidance of You-Know-Who relocated from the Scottish mountains to the smaller range west of Sheffield. We initially thought it was the start of a new Death Eater offensive, but as we continued to watch it became clear that the harpies had instead turned on You-Know-Who and were acting on their own. In fact, we have reason to believe that they have even inflicted casualties on the Death Eaters."

"So?" asked Weasley in a rude tone. "If they're giving those bastards hell, I don't know why you want us to go after them. Sounds like they're doing us a favor."

"That was the very reason we have previously let them be. However, they are not fighting the Death Eaters specifically. They are targeting all humans they see; us, the Death Eaters, and the Muggles in equal measure. They may have injured some Death Eaters, but they have killed almost eighty Muggles since moving, and it is starting to gather the wrong sort of attention. The Statute of Secrecy has stood in place for over three hundred years, and when You-Know-Who's rebellion is over, we will still have need of it. We cannot afford for magical beings to be discovered by the Muggles, particularly not a species that will hunt down humans for food. It would be the worst possible way to reveal our world."

Jen pursed her lips but kept her thoughts to herself. In all honesty, the worst possible revelation would be for Voldemort to try seizing control of the country as a whole and name himself Britain's god-king, thereby inciting a war among different human factions rather than an interspecies war where witches might still be counted as allies. But no matter how interesting that debate would be, now was not the time for it.

"So… You want us to hunt down the harpies?" asked Abbott. "All by ourselves?"

The face of the minister cracked for a moment to show a tired woman who would much rather be anywhere but right there, but then the mask was back in place though not without sympathy. "Unfortunately, Hannah, that is exactly what I'm asking of you. If there were any other option, I would take it, but I'm afraid there simply isn't. At the same time that you are attacking the harpies, the Aurors and Hit Wizards will already be engaging the nests of vampires that we have been tracking down. We know that there is some connection or relationship between the two groups, at least those that agreed to fight for You-Know-Who, so any strategy that relies on attacking just one target will open the door to lethal reprisals.

"That being said," she added after a weighty pause, "despite the reports I have received of your year's talents, I am not asking you to slaughter every harpy in those mountains. Harpies are dangerous, particularly when they are working together with another force as we have discovered at great cost, but alone they are weaker and less cunning than vampires or dark wizards. They also cannot replenish their ranks the way vampires can. As such, the task I am giving you is not to wipe them out. You need to do three things: keep them too busy to lend their aid to the vampire nests, do enough damage to them by either death or injury that they cannot immediately lash out at the Muggles living nearby, and get yourselves out of the fight before any of you are severely injured. Once they no longer have vampiric backup, the Aurors can come back in a couple of days and finish the job."

The group glanced among themselves. "I don't think we can give you an answer right now," Macmillan finally said. "It sounds like you aren't asking just the six of us, but you want to get our entire year on board. Or maybe just those of us in DADA, I don't know. Either way, that isn't something we can agree to for them."

Bones nodded with a faint smile. "I didn't expect you to agree here and now. I just wanted to put the idea in your heads and for you to ask anyone else who has undergone the practical dueling training Dumbledore started this year. For those of you who are agreeable to go on this mission, I will have a few Hit Wizards give those skills the last-minute polish they need to make sure you all come back unharmed from this fight. Think it over, but I will need an answer sooner than later. Thank you for your time."

Everyone stood. Everyone except Jen, that was, who had noticed a small charm being cast on her feet from the wand Bones had seemingly been using to punctuate her remarks. Only after her yearmates were out the door did Jen break the charm and cross one leg on top of the other. "I presume you wanted to speak to me alone?"

"You presume correctly."

"Very well. But I have to wonder: in what capacity did you wish to do so? Jen Black, model Ravenclaw?" Marchbanks's lips twitched, and the old woman could not help herself from rolling her eyes. "Jen Black, priestess of Death? Or…"

She stood from the chair and took a couple of steps up to the desk to prop one hip against it. The smile she gave Bones was sharp and almost hungry. "Jen Black, the lone dark witch you have in your armory?"

"The last, Merlin help us all." Bones's mask was perfect, but it could not be anything but a mask. "If the rest of your classmates do not agree to do this, would you be willing to do so? On your own, or with a small contingent of Hit Wizards with backup? I won't have many to spare, so it would be a very small group."

"Perhaps. You've certainly piqued my curiosity, but your question is a little light on the details. I think I can suss them out, though." She reached out to tap the dot labeled Sheffield. "For all that you promised them that they wouldn't have to kill all the harpies, that's exactly what you want. Need, really. Harpies aren't human, but they aren't stupid. If they realize you're after their extermination, they'll flock right back to Voldemort. There won't be time for a second offensive."

Bones nodded with a sigh, and the mask became a face. "Exactly. The rest of your class are children, and they will hesitate when put in that situation. You, for better or worse, do not have such qualms."

"Which makes me your perfect little executioner, hmm?" Both older witches grimaced at that summation, for they all knew that was exactly what Bones was asking. She walked back to her chair and settled in. "Assuming I agree to this, what would you be giving me in place of the hangman's boots?"

"That's it?!" demanded Marchbanks, her discomfort being shredded by a sudden upwelling of disgust. "You are asked to murder a group of living beings, and the first thing you ask is what you will get out of it?"

"In a word? Yes. _Everyone_ has a price, Headmistress. Everyone has demands for which they would go to unprecedented, even abhorrent lengths if it offered the promise of satisfying those demands. Things they will lie, steal, and kill for." She gave the old woman a self-deprecating grin. "I'm simply more aware than most of what my sins are worth to me. You want to hire me as your knife in the dark, Minister Bones, so I ask you…

"What are you willing to pay for it?"

"What do you want?" Bones asked in return. Her expression was priceless, the look of someone who only just now realized her grand plan involved staring into the abyss and shaking hands with what stared back.

What did she want? Now that was an interesting and limitless question. All the same, there were clearly requests she could not possibly make, and one line of thinking she most certainly could. After all, she had already admitted that particular motivation to Bones. "What I really want is for Hogwarts and other British schools to teach a Dark Arts class much as the Continent does. But," she continued before the minister or the headmistress could interrupt her with excuses for how that was not possible, "that is a big step, and let us be honest. It isn't one you would agree to. Instead, I will settle for something easier, for now anyway. Recognition of the ICW Dark Arts license and the legal protections that come with it."

Bones stared at her for several long seconds, but they both knew what Jen was asking for was not terribly much, especially in light of what she really wanted. This was a decent compromise. "I take it you received your formal license recently?"

"Last week."

A slow nod, then, "What kind of protections are we talking about?"

"Casting dark magic on inanimate objects or beasts, particularly those that clearly do not possess significant intelligent or are well known to be dangerous, is completely legal and without restriction. This includes demonstrations of dark magic. Casting it on beings is permitted only in defense of my own or another's life or with the consent of the individual being cast upon. Or when the sitting Minister of Magic tasks me with killing a bunch of monsters," Jen added with a sly grin.

"Amelia, you can't seriously be considering—"

"There is quite a lot I can consider when I'm trying to win a war," Bones cut in, her voice hard as granite. Now her eyes found Jen again. "If those restrictions are violated, what are the punishments?"

"It depends on the country in which the crime is committed. Act outside the scope of the license, and you have no protection for the fact you were using illegal magics. Here, I'm guessing it would be quite a long stint in prison."

"And you would be right." Bones was clearly unhappy, wrestling with her personal ideals and sheer practicality, and Jen kept her smile from growing. Acting too self-satisfied would accomplish nothing but snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. "Fine. Kill the harpies, Miss Black, and your license will be valid in Britain."

"I'll want that in writing and signed, and I'll want it to apply to anyone who takes the ICW exams and receives the same license." Bones nodded slowly, and now Jen stood again. "Then we have a deal. I'll make sure the harpies all die, even if I have to choke them with my bare hands one by one. Of that you have my word."

Bones waved her away, but Marchbanks looked like she was about to burst with all the things she wanted to say. They were not things the old witch would say with a student in earshot, however, so Jen nodded at the women and cast a listening charm on the desk. As soon as she shut the door behind her, the other end of the spell manifested as a liquidy sphere of sparkles, and she stuck it in her ear.

This was too interesting to pass up.

" _Amelia, what in Merlin's name was that?!"_

" _As I've heard a Muggleborn put it before, it was me making a deal with the devil."_ A long sigh revealed Bones's resignation. _"Unfortunately, it wasn't one I had much of an alternative for. I don't have the men to send after both groups, and I won't ask a bunch of schoolchildren to wipe out an entire den of near-humans."_

" _You'll just ask one student to do the same thing."_

" _I'll ask the girl who already murdered an entire village worth of Death Eaters without hesitation. Black is dangerous, but from the way she acts, she's on our side. For now, anyway. That makes her a resource I quite frankly don't have any others of."_

Marchbanks scoffed, and Jen leaned against the wall to make herself more comfortable. _"You don't need to involve any of them at all. You have Aurors and Hit Wizards and Dumbledore's club—"_

" _A handful of Aurors, whom I'm always deploying somewhere or another. I don't have many Hit Wizards at all right now, not ones I can gather up at a minute's notice. Half of them are currently out in the country training and organizing resistance groups against Voldemort. Keeping their presence and identities a secret from the Death Eaters is a delicate production, and recalling them to hunt down a flock of harpies would risk exposing them."_

Bones was secretly running resistance groups all around Britain? Now that was an interesting revelation. She had barely heard anything about rebel groups from the information passed to her by the prostitutes she had hired as her eyes and ears in Knockturn Alley, and what little she had discovered portrayed them to be ragtag bands of wannabe heroes. To learn that instead they were an organized resistance started by the Ministry was quite an interesting titbit.

" _As for volunteers…"_ Bones sighed. _"Sad as it is to admit it, those seventh-years are heads and shoulders above the people who have volunteered to join the DMLE. So are the rebels my men are working with. The people who fled to Hogwarts just seem to be a lower caliber of wizard. Using the students would be safer and more effective._

" _The Order isn't even an option. After everything he's done, I refuse to give Dumbledore a chance to paint himself as the hero of this war. The Order members themselves, with a few exceptions, are also the kind of people who cause more trouble in a fight than they contribute to it. They're bleeding themselves out with the occasional halfhearted attack that goes nowhere, and I won't be the one who gives Dumbledore a chance to improve the quality of his private army._

" _That's another reason I want to put the students with the Hit Wizards. Right now they're becoming decent team fighters, so it's time to pluck them from under Dumbledore's thumb and have them work with actual law enforcement. If I don't, he'll turn them into a junior branch of his militia, and any successes they have will reflect on him."_

Jen dismissed the listening charm, a grin on her face. Bones recognized that Dumbledore was just as much a threat as Voldemort, and she was taking them both seriously.

Good. That would make everything between her and the Ministry that much easier.

* * *

"…so then Hopkins was trying to show off to impress Roper, and he said—" Young Ronald cut himself off and spluttered for a moment. "Professor!"

"I should hope that is not what was said. I doubt it would impress anyone," Albus said with a grandfatherly smile. That smile never reached his eyes, though, and it faded as he saw both Ronald and Hermione sitting at the sides of Danny's bed. The boy himself still lay there almost unmoving, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling whenever he was spoken to but otherwise not reacting to anything around him. From what Poppy had told him, even feeding him required a charm to force him to swallow what foods or potions were put in his mouth.

James and Lily had forced themselves to visit regularly, but the sight of their son wore at them.

"Isn't it time you went to class? I do believe you are still enrolled in Defense Against the Dark Arts." Their faces fell, but despite the children's guilty expressions they did not deny the truth of the matter. A couple of weeks previously, he had been quite unceremoniously informed by one of Amelia's lackeys that the seventh-year students had advanced enough under his direct tutelage that it was time for them to be taught by 'real' duelists. A rotating team of Hit Wizards were now in charge of the students' training, aided by an unrepentant Filius starting on the second lesson. Worse, the students themselves had not fought the issue as he once would have expected.

He had tried to push back, but as Amelia had reminded him, he had no power any longer. It did not matter that he had defeated one Dark Lord and held back another not once but twice. The Ministry was determined to cut off his influence.

To make matters even more complicated, they had found an unexpected and unexplained ally in their quest: the very Muggles who had been brought to Hogwarts to protect them from the Death Eaters who even now had control of the country due to the Ministry's follies. Albus had been working both directly and through proxies to win their support and therefore the support of the Muggleborns, but somehow the parents had found the _Daily Prophet_ 's reports of him being driven from Hogwarts in 1996. That had served as a rallying cry for the Ministry, and now every Muggle was solidly against him on sheer unbending principle.

The children picked up their belongings, but he motioned for them to stop before they could leave the hospital wing. "You have not been telling him about the state of the war, have you?"

Both Ronald and Hermione shook their heads, and Hermione as always went further to explain, "Of course not, Professor. It's well known that people in comas can sometimes hear what's going on around them, and I didn't want what he heard to all be about that. We've been focusing on innocent little anecdotes. Just things that might help coax him back to us."

"Good, good. I'm glad to hear that. Go on, to class with you." They ran off, and he let his frustration show on his face for a moment before it was boxed up once again. As much as it was a problem, that was not why he was here. He was here to help Danny if he could.

Having said that, just because he wanted to help the boy did not mean he was going to be foolish about it. The runes that were carved over Danny's skin did something, of that he was sure, but exactly what he could not determine. He was not even entirely sure what language they were. An African language, perhaps? One of the previously lost scripts of the Middle East, the cradle of civilization? It would fit Tom's desire for power, for the most ancient languages were reputed by some to be more effective than relatively modern scripts, though that had been debunked some two hundred years earlier.

He had yet to mention any of this to James or Lily, as the knowledge was nothing they could do anything about. Nor had he told Danny's friends. Nonetheless, it would not surprise him should Tom be using Danny as a means of obtaining information directly from the heart of the Order, which was the real reason he did not want Ronald and Hermione to speak of the war in Danny's earshot.

Albus's own Occlumency shields were currently at their weakest and most sensitive, but even with that temptation there was not the faintest whisper of Legilimency. Every test he could think of had ended like this, with no sign of activity. All that sat in front of him was a broken little boy trapped inside his own head.

Perhaps it was time to let his suspicions fade. There was one method he had been working on that might be able to tease Danny out of his shell and back into the waking world, but it was one he had been reluctant to try due to the risks involved. If Danny was not a lure by Tom to gather information…

The decision was made. Albus conjured a comfortable chair and settled in the overstuffed cushions. His wand was held loosely in his hand, and he let his eyes close. He needed to be relaxed for this. It was a difficult and delicate endeavor on its own; he could not afford any distractions. Slowly he released his grip on his senses. Sight was already gone, and smell soon followed. Hearing was next, the world around him falling into a muted mumble. Touch was the hardest to release, not because of its importance but because the loss of his other senses had heightened his perception of the chair, the weight of his robes, the air slowly drifting around him. Finally that too vanished, and he was all alone. Cut off from the outside world.

He stepped out of his body.

A being of thought and magic, that was all he was now. No, not even a being. He was little more than a disembodied soul, a spirit rather than a creature of flesh and blood. He could not spend time learning about this new form, however. Bereft of magic, his body would wither away if he did not return to it. Instead he looked with strange 'eyes' at the nebula of magic centered around a tightly bound mind. Danny was still in there, he realized, and that gave him the courage to shift himself from the space around his corporeal body and into the mind of his young pupil.

This strange process, this 'spirit walking' as he had read of the method being called, was an old and rare application of the already esoteric practice of Legilimency. It was also almost practically useless. Unlike normal Legilimency, spirit walking did not grant access to the recipient's memories or emotions, and while possession allowed a Dark wizard to take bodily control of their victim, that was not the case here. A spirit walker only had as much power in another's mind as that person allowed them, which made any kind of offensive purpose a dangerous waste.

Spirit walking was not meant to attack, though. It was meant for communication, for finding common ground between people who could not otherwise make themselves be understood. Possibly it had been developed as a means of translation before the Translation Charm made it obsolete, but it was still a fantastic Light piece of magic that he had been surprised to find he had never heard of until now.

A shadow flittered across his vision, and when he looked again his vision had returned, though he was no longer in Hogwarts. This strange vista he looked upon was a barren land, the rocky ground cracked and splintered as though a pack of angry giants had waged war upon the earth itself. Was this the representation of Danny's mind after the tortures Tom had inflicted upon him? With no signs to guide him, Albus could only shrug and begin walking forwards. He could not explain why, but some little voice in the back of his own mind told him that he would find what he wanted so long as he looked for it.

Which, considering the situation, might be more literal than he would otherwise give credit. He only had the power Danny gave him, and if Danny _wanted_ to be found in this hellish land, then find him he would.

Time could not be measured in the mind, but still Albus did not believe that much had passed when he heard a skittering nearby. It was the first hint of another living thing he had noticed in this place, and he looked to both sides of himself before another niggling suspicion caused him to turn around and look upon a cluster of boulders not a dozen feet ahead of him. Those had _not_ been there before.

Whistling a happy tune, he walked towards the stones and could not help but smile when he heard more movement. He stopped in his tracks but kept up the song, and after a few more seconds he saw a small head of auburn hair peek out from around one of the rocks to watch him with bright green eyes.

The boy was young, perhaps seven or eight years old, but it was still unmistakably Danny.

"Hello, my boy," he said with no little relief. He sat on the ground, his knees not protesting the movement the way his physical joints would have. "It's good to see you again."

"…Professor?" Danny slowly, oh so slowly, stood up and stepped around the boulder. "Is… it really you?"

"Yes, Danny. It's me, Professor Dumbledore."

Those eyes searched him, and despite the apparent age of the face that gaze was not a child's. It was the gaze of a young man who had been mistreated in ways no sane mind could conceive. "How do I know it's really you?"

He shook his head. "I can't answer that question for you, my boy. How would I set about proving to you that I am who I say I am in a way you will believe? I can only ask you to trust me. I promise you, Danny, I am Albus Dumbledore. I mean you no harm."

"…Why are you here?"

"To find you, of course. Why else would I be here? Your parents and your friends are missing you terribly."

"My parents?" A slow blink followed those words, but still they awakened a deep and primitive need. The need for family, for comfort in the arms of the people who loved him. "…Mum, Dad? Ron? Hermione? Neville?"

"Just so. They want you to come home, so they can hold you and tell you they love you."

Danny took a couple of hesitant steps away from the safety of his boulders, and Albus stretched out his hand. He did not stand, though. He did not want to scare the boy away when he was so close to bringing him back. He had to let Danny make the choice to return.

"Come home with me, Danny. Don't you want to go home?"

Danny looked back and forth between his face and his hand. "…You promise you're gonna take me home?"

"Oh, my dear, sweet boy," he whispered as his heart broke in his chest. "Yes, I promise. I will take you home."

"…Okay." The little boy walked closer, stopping every few steps as though to check once again that this was not a trick, but finally he was almost close enough to touch. Danny slowly reached out a dirty hand to take his own.

Their fingers touched—

—and Albus opened his eyes to find himself once more in the hospital wing.

A deep breath in caused him to look down at the bed. Danny let out a tired sigh and slowly opened his remaining eye. "…Professor Dumbledore?"

"Hello, Danny. Welcome home."

"Professor, I think I had a dream about you." Danny tried to reach up to rub his face, but sadly he had chosen his right arm to do that. When he felt no touch of skin upon skin, he looked down in confusion and then horror. Tears began to run down his cheek, and he raised his head while bringing his other hand up to poke gently against the fabric covering the left side of his face. His voice was thick with emotion when he asked, "It wasn't all a dream, was it?"

Albus could not speak a reply. All he could do was shake his head.

That was the breaking point of the young man's composure, and he struggled to hold in the sobs pouring out. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I tried to be strong. I _tried_. I'm sorry."

There was little comfort Albus could offer, and they both knew it. He still reached out to rest his hand on Danny's knee to give what he could. "You have nothing to apologize for, Danny. What was done to you was awful. No one should have to live through it. But none of it was your fault."

"He said he wanted to break me," Danny continued. "He did everything he could to hurt me. He cut me. He ripped out my eye. He made me watch him murder whole families. And the things the others did…"

Albus's faint patting slowed to a stop. "I do not want to cause you more pain," he said slowly, "but I need to know. What do you mean, he made you watch?"

"He was in my head. Everything he did, everything bad, he forced me to see. I couldn't push him away. He was right there!"

"Did… did you see anything else? Anything else besides their crimes?" A terrifying suspicion was forming in his mind, and no matter how disgusting and distasteful it would be to carry it out… If the choice was between doing what was right and winning this war or doing what was easy and letting the Dark cover the land…

"No. …Wait." Danny sniffled into his hand. "I… I think so? He had a lot of meetings with the Death Eaters and the werewolves and the trolls. He told me that, but… I think I saw bits and pieces of them, too."

"Okay, Danny. Okay." Albus could barely condone where his thoughts were taking him, and yet he did not know if he had any choice. Before his fifth year, Danny had occasionally had visions related to Tom's activities. They had grown stronger until that Christmas, when his scar had ripped itself apart. After that, the visions had stopped.

Albus had assumed that whatever connection was created between Danny and Tom during the latter's failed attempt to murder the Potter twins had been broken with that incident, but perhaps that was not the case. Perhaps it had simply been strained to the breaking point and had closed itself off. Perhaps Danny's time in captivity had forced it to reawaken, either on its own or intentionally on Tom's part.

But Tom had not expected Danny to be recovered. Now that link, previously nothing more than a means for torture, could be used to see inside the mind of a Dark Lord and figure out his plans. It would all depend on whether Tom was the only one who could use it and whether he could block it out with Occlumency. Possibilities only, but there was little risk in making the attempt.

But not now. It would be far too much to put this onto Danny's shoulders in his current state. He would need to rest, to heal from the damage done to him. After that?

After that, they could see what sense could be found in a madman's mind.

* * *

… **Remember that disagreement Voldemort had with Dumbledore that mentioned back in chapter 1? About whether there are fates worse than death? I think he proved there are.**

**But at least Danny's torment is over. Right?**

**Silently Watches out.**


	27. Extermination

**Greensword101:** According to the Prophecy, _either_ Danny or Jen could defeat Voldemort. The work could be done by one of them alone or both working together; that part is not explicitly clear.

 **EEKtheCat:** It's late March-ish right now, so Jen has a few more months to viciously murder Voldemort in the bloodiest way possible. This book should take maybe eight to nine more chapters after this?

Yeah, nine. Looking at my notes, this book should be 35 chapters and an epilogue in total unless my muse goes nuts and adds a bunch more content.

" **Danny's the trappiest trap ever":** Ugh, I am wounded by you people's cynicism. Wounded, I say! …We'll see if you're right. ;-)

* * *

**Chapter 27  
** **Extermination**

"All right, kiddos. Today's the day. If you want to back out, now's your last chance."

The seventh-years stood solid in their lines, even if the conflicted expressions on some of their faces nearly had Jen laughing. Now was probably not the best time for that.

Of her year group, half of them had continued on in Defense Against the Dark Arts to the NEWT level. That meant there were an even twenty students whom Dumbledore had set out to organize when he was orchestrating his small group tactics plan. The Hit Wizards Bones had selected to work with the groups – along with the surprising addition of Andrew Williamson, the same Auror who had been their DADA professor the previous year while he was healing from injuries inflicted by the Death Eaters – had promptly said 'we can do better' and turned their ragtag teams into a well-oiled machine.

The mindset the Ministerial combatants had chosen as the core of their advanced training was how to change individual roles as the scale of fighting changed so that the group as a whole was always doing the same thing. Each person here could duel and fight one-on-one; considering that had been the efforts of several different people, she would hope it was the case. When Dumbledore had put the groups together, he had not given anyone specific directives and instead put them into occasional exercises to force a more organic cohesiveness where people would fall somewhat naturally into a role within that team.

The Hit Wizards had been much more explicit in how they were structuring things. Each student was put through a series of exercises to determine where they fell in the spectrum of offense, defense, or support fighting, and then they were given extra instruction in that specific element of combat. In Jen's own, for instance, Tracey and Luna had leaned just a little towards support and defense, respectively, while she and Morag had been pure offense. When they were fighting as a team, they had been drilled to respond to threats by falling into those roles and thus covering each other's weaknesses.

When they were fighting as an entire group, as had happened on a couple of occasions now, they had other teams to back them up, and the dynamics changed as a result. Jen's team overall was very much offense-minded, but another group might have members who all were more comfortable fighting defensively. As a result, they were also organized into three offense teams that would do the majority of the attacking and two defense teams who would keep the offense teams safe.

It was a complicated setup, and it had taken time for them to get comfortable with it, but practice had proven that it would yield results if they stuck to it.

When the Hit Wizards saw that no one was stepping away from the challenge, the wizard in charge gave the group a nod. "Very well. Before you head off on your first mission, we some things for you. First are the portkeys to your insertion point. We'll hand those out when it's time to go. Second are these." He accepted a box from one of his partners and walked closer before opening it to reveal five pendants. "These necklaces are charmed to carry your voices to each other. We don't have enough for everyone, but since you should never be separated from your teammates, the leader of each team will have one to facilitate communication with the other teams."

Tracey gave Jen a nudge in the back, and she rolled her eyes as she stepped forwards to accept one of the communication pendants. It was interesting that after all their talk of working together in groups, the Hit Wizards were giving them a means to coordinate an attack in such a way that they would have to split up. Or was the idea more to give them all the options they could possibly need to make sure their attack on Voldemort's former harpies went smoothly?

After the pendants were passed out, five metal plates came out. Jen grabbed her team's plate along with the rest of the girls. "Activation in five seconds," the Hit Wizard called out. "Four, three, two, one…"

Jen's boots landed in a soft layer of pine needles, and she looked over at the rest of the students. Would someone take point, or would she be the one to step up? Not that she would mind – there was something fulfilling about being seen as a natural leader of men – but with Bones's oath to recognize the ICW's Dark Arts licensure upon the completion of this job at the back of her mind, she was feeling generous.

It was Granger who stepped forwards, her wand spinning on her palm. "The harpies are this way," she said finally, and then their eyes met with a none too subtle challenge gleaming in Granger's own. Was Granger honestly daring her to speak up against who was taking charge right now, or was it more to try to argue that the harpies weren't where the other witch said they were?

A silly move, but she supposed she should not expect any different. Granger, after all, hated her for blind and petty reasons, and so long as her blood curse was still in effect to keep Granger from ever acting out in actual opposition of her interests, these acts of rebellion were the only ones the bushy-headed bint could legitimately bring to bear against her.

They walked for only a few minutes before they were out of the trees and staring up the side of a short mountain. "Where exactly are they?" Goldstein asked Granger.

"The Point Me spell says it's somewhere to the left, but it doesn't give me much more information than that. Considering where the harpies were roosting when the Express came through, I would expect it to be in a cave on the mountainside."

"Found it," Justin said, surprising Granger and the Head Boy both. He held a pair of binoculars in his hands, but he lowered them to point approximately a third of the way up the lefthand side. "There's a small shelf or something over there, and I can see things moving around on it. That's got to be it."

"If they're in a cave, it will make it harder to fight them all," pointed out Longbottom. "They're protected on three sides, so we have to enter through the front. We'll be bottlenecked in the middle of their territory."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Everyone turned to look at Tracey, who was already drawing a basic diagram in the dirt at their feet. "Just like you said, Longbottom, a frontal assault would be risky, but that assumes we do this the Gryffindor way. Let's think like Slytherins for a second. We have no other way in, which means they have no other way _out_. If we plug up the opening, with a cave-in or fire or something, they're stuck inside with no hope of escape."

For all the Gryffindors' aghast expressions at such a cold-blooded plan, Jen could not ignore how everyone else in the party was nodding, and it brought a smile to her face. It was no mystery why. Closing up the mouth of the cave was not only the plan with the best chance of success, it was also the plan that posed the least risk to them. Not everyone was a bullheaded Lion who insisted on facing their enemies head-on. Granger's team – her, Longbottom, Weasley, and Finnigan – looked at each other for several long moments before their shoulders fell in resignation. There would be no great glory this day.

That did not mean she could not throw them a bone to keep them moving in the direction she wanted.

"I like that plan, Tracey, but there's one glaring hole in it. There are harpies walking around at the mouth of the cave. If we don't get rid of the guards first, we'll wind up fighting them while they're up in the air and we're doing our best not to lose our footing and fall down the side of the mountain."

"You sound like you have a few ideas about how to do that."

She gave her best friend a knowing smirk. "Maybe a couple. I'm thinking two teams head out first and serve as a distraction. Get the harpies riled up, but more importantly draw them away from the cave entrance. While those teams are busy there, the other three sneak up to the cave and bring the side of the mountain down on them."

"So depending on how well the distraction works, either the three teams on the mountainside will be in a great deal of danger, or the teams out in the open will be," summed up Macmillan. "Not a great plan."

"Do you have a better one?"

The Hufflepuff kept silent, which was as good as an admission. She looked at the rest of the group, her hands out. "If anyone has a better plan than Tracey's, or even just a different one, let's hear it and talk it out. Anyone? No? Then let's move on. For the two teams that head out to be the distraction, I think it's best if we do one offense team and one defense team. Since it's my and Tracey's idea, we'll be the offense team that goes."

"We can cover the defense angle," Granger said after a moment. Surprise, surprise, the Lions would volunteer for the job that put them in the most danger. Then again, if the look Luna was sending her, not all her own team was happy with her volunteering them, either.

Keeping a close eye on the cave entrance, the eight of them moved away from the woods and onto the rock-strewn ground. "This was your plan, Davis," Weasley said after several moments where they did little but observe their target. "Get a move on."

Jen cast him a look that should have told even the most dimwitted fool that if he spoke another word, she would gladly use his blood to work her magic. Weasley did not appear to get the message, which was unfortunately about par for the course for that family.

"Well," Luna said in a thoughtful voice, "we're trying to serve as a distraction, right? That sounds like we need to wait for the other groups to get into position before we do anything. Once they do, we let loose with our strongest spells. All of us. We need to be a big enough threat that the harpies can't ignore us."

"But not so much that they all come after us at once," reminded Finnigan. "We can't take on all the harpies by ourselves."

 _He_ might not, but that did not apply to all of them. Jen forced herself to do the diplomatic thing and not remind him of the great gulf between his abilities and hers. Now was not the time to start a fight with the kind of people who would charitably be called impulsive and hot-headed. "Send the message to the others, Granger. The rest of you, figure out what you're casting. We should only have a few minutes to get ready. Finnigan, since you're so worried about being overwhelmed, keep an eye on the cave and the sky and make sure our ambush is not going to be turned around on us."

That taken care of, she closed her eyes to block out all the unnecessary distractions of sight and thought. Luna was right; they needed to use powerful magics. The problem with that simple plan was that her actual strongest spells needed time to set up and a victim or three whose lives she could consume. Also her dagger, which she did not have on her. Not to mention a lack of witnesses, which… would be difficult here.

So black magic was out, and the denizens of Death's realm she could summon would probably not be the safest thing to call on while she had people here she wanted to remain off the food chain, which ruled out Evocation as well. Blood magic wouldn't do much since she had no harpy blood to use as an anchor.

The Unforgivables and spells she had derived from them, like the green lightning she had thrown out against the Turk? Another list that she had to hold back so long as there were other non-victims around.

Her dark Patronus? No, her tiger would be of little utility against airborne foes.

The monster hunter spells she had learned from Flitwick once upon a time, like the Gungnir Curse or the Demon Cutter? Maybe. Except those were created with single large targets in mind, not a swarm of smaller enemies.

Using Granger and company as projectiles? Tempting, but she could only expect to take down four harpies at most, and more likely than the avian monsters would tear her meat bullets into shreds before they could actually do any damage.

She needed something that would strike the harpies with ease, either killing them or at least swatting them to the ground. Something big and powerful that she could also afford to have seen. A thought crossed her mind, a memory of the last battle she had fought when she had to deal with Granger, Longbottom, and Weasley, and her frown gave way to a more contemplative expression. She had worked with mud that time, but with time, could she do the same with rock? Voldemort had done it with entire houses, so surely it had to be _possible_.

Kneeling on the ground and pressing her palm down, she widened her connection to the planet and recirculated the magic back into the earth, though this time the energy was guided by purpose. Stone split and shifted beneath her fingers, and she shoved the effect deeper and wider in the general direction of the mountain. Last time she had only held onto this spell for a few seconds. Now she would be keeping it up for a minute at least.

" _We're ready,"_ came a voice from around her neck. The pendant, of course. The other teams were in position already?

Morag put a hand on her shoulder and shook it. "Jen. Jen. We're good to go whenever you are."

"Do it. I'll join in as soon as you've all cast."

No one had to be told twice. With her eyes closed, she could not see the spells being launched, but she could still feel the variety of structures and textures that raced past her. "Jen," Tracey said in a tight voice, "they're coming, and they're not happy. Whatever you're doing, hurry it up."

Finally she opened her eyes again, and she pulled back on the dirt and pebbles that had worked their ways up her forearms. The ground in front of them rumbled and shook, then the foot of the mountain lifted up. Rocks the size of a grown man shifted along with old dead roots into a long, serpentine tendril. It whipped out to smash the leading edge of the flock of harpies out of the way.

The monsters pulled back enough to dodge the follow up swipe, but they were not expecting the final evolution of the form. The end of the tendril split apart into four and lengthened another fifteen feet. One finger wrapped around a slower harpy and crushed it into pulp.

"If you're going to close up that cave, you better do it now," she grit out. "I don't know how long I can keep this thing moving."

In the distance explosions rang out, but she could not focus on them. Back when Voldemort and the Death Eaters had attacked Hogsmeade at the end of her fifth year, she had animated a construct of mud to fight the snake he created out of a series of houses. That had been relatively simple, but the rocks here were resistant to her efforts in a way that mud had not. She did not know if it was due to magic seeping back into the ground in Hogsmeade for centuries or if Lady Hogwarts had been actively shouldering part of the load, but whatever the cause it was becoming more and more of a strain on her mind to manipulate this arm.

Pulling back on the fingers and solidifying them into thick claws helped somewhat, but not enough.

She kept her focus divided as little as possible, moving the arm only when the harpies got close enough that she could hit several of them at once. A few slipped past her, but that was why she had the rest of her team with her, and those occasional misses were quickly struck down by her friends.

" _Cave's closed up. We're getting out of here."_

"We're right behind you," Jen heard coming from nearby. "Black, drop the spell and let's go."

"Job's not over yet," she said through clenched teeth. She had to kill the harpies. She could not remember right now just why that was, not through the pounding headache that was building in her skull, but she knew they all had to die here and now.

"Black, we're going!" A hand grabbed her arm, and her fury was redirected into electricity that coursed through the offending limb. Its owner screamed and fell to the ground, and she could return her full focus to the task at hand.

Someone moved behind her, and this time she recognized the voice as Tracey's. "Jen, the Minister said we just had to cripple them as a fighting force. We don't have to wipe them all out."

That was right. Bones was the reason she needed to kill them all. "We made a deal, she and I. All the harpies have to die today."

"…Okay. Then get rid of the arm and rest while we clean up."

That sounded like a good idea, actually. Pieces of the arm started falling off, which gave her one last idea. The arm exploded in the direction of the mountain, hitting several of the small number of harpies who were still airborne, and brilliant beams of light hit the rest.

The breeze blowing through the clearing was the only sound that could be heard.

Good enough. Jen closed her eyes again and fell face first onto the ground.

* * *

**Alright, done. I mentioned it in the last chapter of the Worm/Nanoha quest I'm running, but for those of you who don't read it: I'm putting that story on hold for a while so I can focus entirely on this. My goal is for this series to be complete by next July, so… I really need to get moving.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	28. Death by a Thousand Cuts

**Greensword101:** Danny's gonna have a challenge helping Jen kill Voldemort without his wand hand. It's an interesting parallel that I by no means planned, but Danny's (much like Harry's) skills are entirely in _wizardry_. Wand-based magic, like Transfiguration and DADA. Without a hand to hold and channel magic through a wand, he's essentially useless in a fight. Jen, conversely, has a very thorough grounding in several areas of _witchcraft_ thanks to Elsie and then her own studies. Even if she needed a wand, she would be limited but not crippled should her right hand be removed because witchcraft does not require a wand and most of the time does not require a focus at all.

 **Leez:** I used to be able pump out chapter after chapter, but residency has sucked the life out of me and left me with very little free time. That's the reason I was able to work on a quest with thousand-word updates regularly but wouldn't update this for six to eight weeks at a time. Even with all my play time dedicated to this story, it _still_ might take me a month to write a chapter, which would put me right at the June deadline.

* * *

**Chapter 28  
** **Death by a Thousand Cuts**

"Madam Pomfrey, I'm perfectly fine. There's nothing more you need to do."

"You will be _'perfectly fine'_ when I say you are, Miss Black, and not an instant sooner. I thought you had outgrown these self-destructive displays of ego years ago, but clearly I was mistaken. Why you had to inherit the worst traits of _both_ your parents I have no idea—"

A soft clearing of the throat, and Jen and Pomfrey both turned to see Minister Bones standing in the doorway of the hospital wing. "Is this a bad time?"

"Nope. Your timing is impeccable, Minister," she said, blithely ignoring the glare Pomfrey sent her way. At this point, any interruption in the argument they had been engaged in for the last five minutes was a welcome one. "What can we do for you today?"

The leader of the country kept her eyes on Pomfrey. "I was hoping to talk to you about how the mission against the harpies went?" Huh, so Bones was just as wary of the Hogwarts matron as some of the students were. Interesting.

"It went as well as could be expected, I suppose. No deaths, only a couple of injuries, and all the harpies were either dealt with or trapped inside their cave where they cannot escape. Give it three days or so, and they will no longer pose any threat to anyone again." Unless they had a small river or something in the back of the cave, in which case it would take more along the lines of a couple of weeks.

…In hindsight, she might want to head back in a day or two just to make sure there was no possible way the harpies could get out. Liquify the rocks if the other students brought down the top of the cave and reform it so that there was a single wall of stone. She did not want to give the harpies any chance to dig their way out.

"How did the attack on the vampires go?"

"Rather well. One Hit Wizard sustained a bite, but she's doing better after getting a few blood replenishing potions. A single bite cannot cause vampiric conversion, but the next few nights will still be hell. Vampires' victims feel compelled to seek out the one that bit them, and even with that vampire and the rest of the nest reduced to ash, there is no cure for that but waiting out the compulsion." Bones conjured herself a chair next to Jen's bed and settled herself in it. "I've also heard some very strange descriptions of how you created an entire arm of stone with which to fight. How did you possibly manage that?"

She gave the other woman a self-satisfied smile. Did the Minister think she needed dark magic for _everything_? "An animation charm."

"A… what did you just say?"

"An animation charm," she repeated, smile not dimming one iota. "I shattered a chunk of the mountainside into smaller rocks and animated them as though they were a single thing. I got the idea after I saw Voldemort do it when he attacked Hogsmeade a couple of years ago."

Bones shook her head. "There is no way that was just an animation charm. Animating that much at once as a single unit is impossible."

"Not impossible. Just very, very difficult."

"And not something I would ever recommend you telling anyone to do or how to do," Pomfrey cut in with a stern look at Bones. "Even if it is possible, the risks are too great."

It was obvious that the idea was still tempting, but Bones forced herself to ask, "What kinds of risks are we talking about?"

"Magical exhaustion. Full body nerve damage. Burns to several muscles. I could go on, but those are the highlights."

Jen shot Pomfrey a glare that was ignored. She supposed that _technically_ the school nurse was talking about the potential risks of a course of action, not detailing her own injuries, but considering she was the only person either woman had ever met who could do it, it did not exactly take a genius to link the two. "The burns aren't even related to the spell. They're from where I accidentally electrocuted Finnigan, and I already apologized for that."

In truth, she had not even noticed at the time that the skin and muscles of her upper arm where burnt from where she lashed out at the boy when he laid his hands on her, but Pomfrey had already given her a tongue-lashing about it.

"That is just where the worst burns are, Miss Black, but you have other injuries throughout your body. I'm honestly more concerned with the nerve damage, or I would be if it weren't somehow recovering on its own. Or are you doing something?" she added with a knowing eyebrow.

"I'm morphing it away." This got Bones's attention, so she had to explain, "I'm not a full Metamorphmagus like Dora is, but I'm still a Black. We all have some degree of self-transformative ability." In truth, she was flooding her nerves with magic and forcing them to heal, but that would take even longer to explain. Morphing, from everything Dora had told her, was one of those things that needed almost no magic, so it would explain why if Pomfrey did another scan she would still show up as magically exhausted.

And magical exhaustion was much preferable to revealing that she had no magical core, which was a whole other can of worms she would rather never get into with anyone in any great depth.

"I see. That's very… enlightening." Bones stood, and Jen stared at her before the Minister sighed. They both knew what she wanted. "It wasn't how I thought you would go about things, but you kept your word. I will keep mine. An executive order will be signed today to make it clear to the DMLE that so long as the conditions we talked about are met, anyone who is seen performing dark magic and can show a valid ICW license is not to be arrested but will still need to be interviewed. That's as far as my authority extends until we get a legislature up and running again. Will that suffice?"

"Yes, Minister, it will suffice. For now."

Bones turned to walk out the door, but the Baron saved Jen from any further scolding at Pomfrey's hands when a surprising couple made their way inside. "Madam Pomfrey, can you check on Monica?" Wendell Granger asked, all but dragging his wife behind him. "She's been ill the last couple of days."

"No, don't check on me. I'm _fine_ ," Monica argued with a disparaging shake of her head. "It's just the flu."

"Mrs. Granger, you're a Healer in your own right. You should know you need to be examined. Or did you somehow forget the warnings I gave you that there are diseases specific to the wizarding world that you have never been exposed to and have no immunity for?" Pomfrey ushered them to another bed and waved her wand over Monica for a couple of minutes before a faintly amused smile formed on her face. "That being said, you are half right. This did not need immediate medical attention."

"See? I told you it was just a little bug."

Pomfrey's expression did not change. "No, you're not sick at all. You are, however, six weeks pregnant." The Grangers stared at her with incomprehension, and she shrugged her shoulders. "Congratulations?"

"But… I'm already forty. I'm too old to have another kid."

"I do not profess to be an expert in obstetrics – part of my job is _preventing_ pregnancy – and especially not in the differences between Muggle and magical pregnancies, but while pregnancies are difficult for witches in their sixties and seventies, approximately the equivalent physical age as you, they are not impossible. If this child is also magical, he or she will have a further advantage in making it to term."

"Which is likely," Jen cut in from her own bed. "The siblings of a Muggleborn tend to be magical, too. Exceptions happen, of course, but that is the rule." And even exceptions, like how Ted was the only magical member of his family, had other explanations. Ted would likely refuse to ever test his genealogy to be sure both his parents actually were his biological parents, but that was Jen's, Cissy's, and even Andi's best guess as to his oddity. "Oh, and congratulations."

Pomfrey busied herself giving instructions to the new mother-to-be, and that was as good a chance of escape as Jen would ever get. She slid off the bed to set her feet on the floor, and Wendell looked over at the sound. She raised a finger in command for silence and gave him a wink, then she wrapped the surrounding light around herself. Now invisible, she stole away as quickly as she could. It would not take Pomfrey long to notice her absence.

"Black!" Jen heard after not even a minute. "Get your butt back here!"

* * *

James clomped after the rest of the Order, his wooden leg slowing him down but, thanks to the Silencing Charm Lily had cast on it, not giving away their position to everyone nearby. Mad-Eye waved for everyone to keep moving, and together they surrounded a small shed out in the middle of nowhere.

This was the first major offensive the Order had been on really since the country had fallen and the Ministry had holed up in Hogwarts. The first time they could actually get back out and make a difference. The _Ministry_ – and oh was it hard to think that without giving in to the urge to curse those short-sighted bureaucrats – had made it clear they were not welcome when the Aurors and Hit Wizards went off to fight, and while James and many others were sure Mad-Eye had information of other targets they could attack, he was keeping silent.

Thankfully, they had another source of information about the Death Eaters' movements, although James would have given anything to have that source be someone, anyone else. He was beyond joyful that Danny had been saved, but the fact that Danny was once again subject to visions of You-Know-Who's depravities? That You-Know-Who had even weaponized that connection to torture him? Those were beyond the pale, and the connection being widened to the point that You-Know-Who could not effectively close it and therefore could not keep his plans secret was of little comfort.

"Everyone get ready," Mad-Eye whispered, his voice echoing as it was carried around to everyone on this mission. "Three. Two. One. Now!"

A dozen wands unleashed a dozen spells, and huge holes appeared in the walls of the shed. The Order poured in through those holes like smoke and threw Stunning Spells at anything wearing a black cloak. Three men fell, and in the ensuing quiet James looked around quickly to make sure they were not missing anyone. The inside of the shed was much larger than the outside, and in addition to the guards they had taken out there were boxes of nonperishable food, rows of potions in vials, clothes of various sizes, ingredients to replenish said potions…

"It's a supply cache," breathed Carson. "Look at all this stuff! Anything they needed to keep themselves going. It's all here."

"That doesn't make any sense." James looked over to find Mad-Eye examining everything with his magical eye. "They have control of the country. Why would they need a safehouse way out here?"

Emmeline Vance looked up from the potions she was examining. "Maybe they were preparing for in case they lost control? Or maybe it's some place they set up back when they were still trying to take over and they just never moved anything out?"

Mad-Eye grunted but did not argue the point, which was as good a surrender as anyone was ever going to get out of the paranoid old Auror.

"I have an idea for what we could do with it, too," suggested Arthur. "We all know things are getting desperate back at Hogwarts. The clothes, the potions, the food; these could make a difference if we took them back. Not a big difference, mind you, but every little bit helps."

"Check everything for spells before you touch it," Mad-Eye warned. "It would be just like the Death Eaters to curse their belongings, or at the very least put tracking charms on it so they could find whoever took them. I'll be double-checking everything before we head back to the castle."

James rolled his eyes where Mad-Eye couldn't see it. What was the point of checking this stuff a second time when they had already taken off any spells that were on it? But if he wanted to waste his time, fine. That was his decision.

Besides, that was just like Mad-Eye. Paranoid to a fault. Who would actually curse their own things, anyway?

* * *

A wave of Voldemort's wand vanished the two statuettes on his map that had at one point symbolized the harpies and vampires that had been running rampant. The Ministry had no idea how much they had helped him, did they? He had been in a quandary regarding those creatures; on the one hand, they were causing him no end of problems, but on the other, attacking them even after they deserted his cause could have lost him the support of the other Dark creatures within his army. In their eyes, he was a wizard before anything else, and his promises to them would be seen as nothing if he turned on one of their 'cousins'. With the Ministry doing his dirty work for him, however, he could now stoke their fury regarding their former oppressors and tie them even more tightly to his cause.

Why, for this he might even keep Amelia Bones alive when the war was over. Snap her wand so she could not cause him more trouble and give her to one of his lieutenants as a reward or something. But that was an idea for later. Right now, he needed to strike while the iron was hot and keep the momentum going in his direction.

He glanced over the map again, and his eyes alit on a small hamlet that had been causing trouble lately. Rebel attacks in and around the area, which meant that particular branch of rebels was likely located within the town itself. It was not that odd an idea that they would live in the same area where they fought. Not all wizards could Apparate; children whose cores were not yet developed to handle the strain and the elderly who could no longer focus to the extent necessary to reach their destination were large portions of that population, but there were also many wizards who were simply too weak to tear their way through the fabric of reality. A mere half the population was capable of the act. It was the main reason the Ministry maintained and supervised a Floo Network that stretched across the entire country, so that anyone could travel anywhere.

If these rebels truly were hiding here and the people were hiding them, then all he needed to do was purge that village.

Voldemort nodded to himself and walked out of his war room. "No need to accompany me, Rabastan," he told the Lestrange brother who immediately started dogging his footsteps. "I'm just going for a walk."

Once outside the hold of the castle, he Apparated just outside a small village on the coast and reached within the folds of his robes to the extended pocket he had hidden there. From it he pulled a heavy crown of steel and set it on his head. This was his only protection from his own subjects; without it, he would be seen as little more than another morsel. "Come," he said both out loud and into the haunting quiet the crown made available. "I have need of you."

Shadows stirred in the village, and tall figures floated out to meet him. _"We obey the Crowned,"_ stated the Dementors. He raised the flesh where his eyebrows once sat at the sight of all of them slipping into the light of his wand. He had not kept great track of their numbers, had not thought he _needed_ to, but he could not help but notice that this looked like many more than he had brought with him from Azkaban a few years ago, or even than had assembled when he returned from Mongolia. That was… disconcerting.

"I have a job for you, and it involves devouring souls." If he expected cheers or any other indication they were looking forward to this, he would have been disappointed. Dementors were not given to displays of excitement or any other emotion for that matter. He pulled a long chain from yet another pocket and tossed one end towards the nearest Dementor. "I do not need all of you. As many of you who can grab the chain without crowding one other, do so. The rest of you, return to whatever else you were doing before my arrival."

A tap of his wand, and the scenery changed. It was quiet little village, he noticed. Lights on in a few of the houses, but most of the sound and activity came from another building near the center of the town that was most likely the local pub. This was the kind of place that could watch the centuries come and go yet never change from its daily routine. A peaceful, simple town.

It was too bad certain members of the populace just could not leave well enough alone.

"Eat up."

The Dementors glided forwards, and he followed after a few beats. He wanted to see what happened. If everyone tried to run once they knew what was going on, that did not prove or disprove his suspicions. If they resisted, though? Normal wizards did not stand and fight. The people of Britain had proven that time and time again. Anyone who tried to fight back would therefore almost by definition have been trained to do so.

These rebel groups were too similar in behavior. At first he had thought that they were all springing up on their own, but the more the Death Eaters tried and failed to catch them, the clearer it was that they were either in communication with each other or they were all organized by the same person or group. Bones and her people had been clever, but eventually their ploy would reveal itself. Unfortunately there was little he could do about it right now other than stamp out the fires as quickly as he could and try to get ahead of them.

Screams echoed through the night, and he slowed to a halt and waited. Would they run? Would they fight?

" _Incendio_!"

Well then. At least _someone_ was trying to fight.

Apparation was not easy, but it was worlds away less difficult than a Patronus. These people had no hope of fighting off the Dementors, but he had to give credit where credit was due: they were trying their best to do it anyway.

The fires scorched the Dementors' robes but did little else, and then the demons swooped down on the town's defenders and latched onto their faces. Wearing the Crown of Demens did not make the Kiss any less disturbing to watch. He turned away and caught a glimpse of brilliant white smoke trying to coalesce into a shield. There was someone here who _was_ strong enough to attempt a Patronus? Interesting.

He flicked his wand, and a stone spike sailed into the shadows. The Patronus did not appear again.

"Retreat!" someone yelled from the distance. One of the rebels giving in to panic rather than keep their movement secret, or just a panicked civilian? "Fall back to Longbottom Manor!"

Oh.

OH.

Now _that_ was interesting. "Pull back," he told the Dementors. "Let them get just a little ahead of you before you pursue. I want them to reach their destination."

" _We obey."_

He strolled after the Dementors, the Crown giving him a rough mental picture of where they were in relation to his own position. He had tried and failed to reach Longbottom Manor on more than one occasion. It was protected with the Fidelius just as the Potters' home had been twice upon a time, but unlike the Potters, he had never been to the Longbottoms' estate, and the few of his followers who had and potentially could lead him there had always Flooed or Apparated there directly. Without remembering exactly where it was physically, they could not guide him close enough that he could try sidestepping the protection.

But these people? Oh, they had clearly been given the secret. Either it was the Order rather than the Ministry who was training them – an incredibly unlikely scenario – or this was a town that was traditionally under the Longbottoms' protection and thus the family had felt obligated to give up the Secret to the villagers for just this eventuality.

He caught up with the Dementors when they all stopped in an arc facing the same direction. "Can you see where they went?"

" _Yes. Walls in front of us. We need permission to cross."_

They needed permission to cross the wards, or maybe just the Fidelius? Was that an inherent aspect of their magic, like vampires' inability to cross a threshold uninvited, or a rule put in place by the guards of Azkaban that he had not known about and never revoked? Except he could have sworn they had crossed ward lines previously—

Wait. Every other time that happened, he was either in front of them or he had explicitly told them to go somewhere. As their 'Crowned', perhaps those orders gave them implicit permission and so they had never troubled him about it. He could try revoking that restriction now that he knew about it… or he could keep that secret to himself. The Dementors had no sense of loyalty except to the Crown as an artifact. When the bearer changed, so too did whom they followed. This restriction was one protection he was loath to remove.

"You have my permission to cross this barrier," he said. Would it work, or did it have to come from Augusta Longbottom herself?

The Dementors moved forwards and vanished from his sight.

"Wait!" Now that he was thinking about it, this night should not end without an object lesson of some sort. He could not see the Dementors, but he had enough experience with them to guess that they were looking at him and waiting for new instructions. He waved his wand and conjured an illusion of the Longbottom matron. "Bring this woman to me alive and unspoiled. Kill the others."

There. That should work. Now he just needed to keep the rabbits from fleeing the hounds. Voldemort's wand danced as he incanted, " _Prohibentur focum. Prohibentur baiulum. Prohibentur scopam_. Hmm, why not? _Prohibentur apparatum_."

Preventing Apparation in addition to Floo, portkeys, and brooms was probably excessive, but even if none of her protectees could Apparate, Longbottom herself could. She might lose her famous Gryffindor courage and flee, or else try to perform a 'heroic retreat' and save one or two people via Side-Along Apparation.

Several minutes passed before he felt the Dementors approaching, then they were once again visible. Between the two in the front dangled a middle-aged woman, her heavily muscled arms glimmering oddly in the light of his wand. She looked up and spat at him. "Voldemort. Is this supposed to be bravery, walking around without your Death Eaters?"

…Actually in contact with not one but two Dementors, and not only was she not a gibbering wreck she was actually _defiant_? That was both impressive and slightly frightening. Or did the Dementors take his command to leave her unharmed as an order to spare her from their aura? There was no way to know.

"Augusta Longbottom," he said, waving for the Dementors to put her down. They let go of her arms, which fell stiff and unyielding to the grass. "Heroine of the Battle of Lembach. Bearer of the Order of Merlin, Second Class. Dowager and regent to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom." He bent down to grab her hand and blinked at the sharp snap. Clearly the Dementors had some effect on her, as proven by the frozen finger he now held in his palm. "I expect you have had better nights than this."

"We both know where this ends, you prick." She tossed back her greying hair. "Just get it over with. Death is preferable to having to listen to you ramble."

He almost reached for his wand at her insolence, but then he smiled. "No."

"No?"

"No."

"You're not going to kill me?" she asked slowly. "You must be dumber than you look, and trust me. That would take some effort."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm going to kill you. Just not yet."

He bent down and transfigured a leaf into a thumb-width rope that he wrapped around her neck and charmed with the same spell against Apparation he had used on her manor home. It would do no good for her to escape.

"I need a camera first."

* * *

**A couple of fun quotes in this chapter. :)**

**Silently Watches out.**


	29. Traitors and Spies

**The Sinful:** You can blame Pomfrey's admission of her limitations on my background. On medical drama TV shows, it keeps the cast down when doctors are shown doing _everything_ , but trust me when I say that doesn't happen in real life. Nowhere close. If someone says they can do everything on their own in the medical field, _**DO NOT**_ let that person touch you.

 **lilnome:** I am not mixing Luna and the Powers plot. That's a recipe for more trouble than I want to put up with.

 **Frosty Wolf:** To be fair to Voldemort (just why do I have to be fair to him?!), he did point out back in chapter… 27?… that the vampires and harpies had abandoned him to go off and do their own thing. The Ministry had no idea they were actually helping Voldemort more than hurting him.

**I did not mean for this chapter to take so long, and honestly it didn't. I'm trying to keep one chapter ahead like I did back before residency sucked up all my time, and next chapter… got a little crazy.**

* * *

**Chapter 29  
** **Traitors and Spies**

Breakfast at Hogwarts in the post-takeover era was an odd experience. In the olden days, back when the only people at Hogwarts were students and staff, food would be made by the house-elves in the kitchens and then transported to the tables for everyone to pick from at the five house and staff tables. Now that the number of people living in and around the castle had expanded from a few hundred to a few thousand, and with Hogwarts's larders taking the brunt of the hungry mouths, the layout of the Great Hall had changed into various iterations over the last couple of months as the castle and the elves tried to find the most efficient workflow possible to feed everyone. The result was that tables overflowing with various foodstuffs were located at two of the walls, and the large house tables had been replaced with many smaller tables that would only seat eight to ten people. Everyone was welcome for breakfast and dinner, and those who did not wish to eat in the Great Hall itself were more than welcome to take their food elsewhere, such as to the courtyard or to the 'temporary' pavilion that was becoming more and more of a permanent structure.

It meant there were more people in the Great Hall every morning and evening than there were meant to be, and thus a bigger audience.

Jen glanced up in surprise when she felt the flock of owls winging their way towards the Great Hall. Birds carrying all sorts of letters and packages had been a common sight back when everything was business as usual, but ever since Voldemort had conquered the land, deliveries were sparse. Mostly because anything that could moved by bird could now be hand delivered by the families of students who either had access to Hogwarts's private Floo network, but also because not a few gift-givers were dead by now.

One of the owls swooped down to the table she shared with Tracey, Luna, Morag, and Padma and dropped a long roll of parchment before flapping off. Tracey glanced up from her oatmeal and asked the obvious question. "Why did no one tell me we had our own newspaper press up and running?"

"It's a surprise to me as much as to you." Picking the paper up, Jen blinked at the familiar logo. "Huh. It's, er… It's the _Daily Prophet_."

"Isn't the _Prophet_ under the control of the Ministry and You-Know-Who?"

"Yes, Padma. Yes it is." She turned it around so her friends could see the headline.

**Rebels Found Near White Castle!  
** **Leaders Executed, Members Sentenced to Azkaban**

"Shite, they aren't even hiding their biases anymore, are they?" asked Tracey as she unfolded the paper to skim through the pertinent details.

Jen's eyes were drawn instead to the photograph hidden below the fold. No, they clearly were not hiding anything. The photo of the rebel leader was a witch of middling age, and she had been quite legitimately crucified in the middle of a field. A fireball soared in from outside the border, and whatever accelerant she had been soaked in beforehand burst immediately into flames. The witch started burning alive in full view before the photograph looped back to the beginning.

The resolution was poor, but there was something familiar about her—

A scream of horror burst out from the Gryffindors' table, and she glanced over to see which 'brave Lion' had lost their nerve at a little torture when her eyebrows rose. There was a growing commotion from the middle of the table, but that could not stop her from feeling Longbottom curl in on himself with the newspaper still lying on his plate. Now that she thought about it, his scream and now his high-pitched whine were not just horror. There was rage and grief mixed in, too.

Ah-ha! _That_ was why the woman looked familiar.

Morag put down her fork, her face turning pale. "How did they _Prophet_ even get here in the first place? If the Death Eaters can send us newspapers, what's to stop them from sending cursed letters or bombs or who knows what else here?"

That was a very good question, but thankfully Padma answered as Jen had no clue. "Marchbanks changed the wards last year so nothing with any kind of malignant magic can come through. After people tried to kill Tracey our fifth year and almost did kill Jen last year, she decided it was past time to tighten security. She made the announcement when you were still in the hospital wing," she elaborated to Jen's raised eyebrow.

She pursed her lips but just nodded. That would have done nothing to stop Callahan's poison considering it was entirely nonmagical, but this was probably not the best time to go into those little details. It was unlikely Voldemort would turn to such mundane solutions when magic had so much more glitz and glam.

"Why would he do this?" Luna whispered. No one needed to ask who 'he' was. For all that no one wanted to say his name, he was the man on everyone's mind. "Killing these rebels I guess I can understand. He's evil, and he's going to kill anyone who stands in his way. But why take a picture of it? Why put it in the _Prophet_? Why send it to us?!"

Jen sighed and reached over to rub the little blonde's back. "Look around you. Everyone's shocked. Everyone's scared. This is why he did it. He wants to destroy the morale of anyone who would ever think of siding with his enemies. People here have heard about the deaths he brings. Many of them lost family to him. But there is a world of difference between knowing intellectually that he and the Death Eaters are killing people and seeing someone actually be murdered, whether that be in real life or on the front page of a newspaper." She dragged the fingertips of her other hand through the grease left behind by some of Morag's sausages and rubbed it around her fingers and palm. When she opened her hand fully, her friends leaned ever so slightly away from the bloody red she had charmed the grease to appear. "Seeing death up close provokes a visceral reaction that is worth more than any mere story of his horrors."

"Wouldn't it also frighten the people who are living under his rule? Maybe even enough that people who think they have nothing left to lose will fight even harder?" Padma forced out after a thick swallow.

"That depends." She shrugged and wiped the grease off her fingers. "If I were You-Know-Who and I had this kind of material, I wouldn't spread it over the entire country. I would just send it here, where my enemies have all gathered. I wouldn't be surprised if this was a special edition of sorts, and the rest of the country is reading a very different paper. Maybe they don't have this article at all; maybe they do but it has a minimum of detail. I would put my money on the former. So long as people outside these walls think they are safe enough, most won't put up too much of a fight even when they know intellectually that something is wrong. They won't want to risk what they have for a mere principle.

"No, this was all for us. He wants to cripple us with fear, and honestly? I think he got what he was looking for."

* * *

Once again, the Order was on the move.

The loss of Augusta had hit them all hard, James knew, and they were all itching for a little bit of vengeance. How could they not? Augusta had been one of the pillars of the Order: less involved in the routine activities the way Dumbledore and Mad-Eye were, but no less firm in her sheer presence, especially when they were still conducting their operations out of her manor rather than inside Hogwarts. To see in a newspaper that she had been murdered, and not just murdered but actually burnt alive?

Oh, there was a fire in their bellies now. You-Know-Who had better be afraid of what he had unleashed.

It had affected all of them, but James knew it had hit Neville the worst. With his parents permanent residents of St. Mungo's, his grandmother was the closest family he had, and now she was gone. Even Danny, still struggling with the aftermath of his own torments, had done what he could to comfort his godbrother in this time of grief.

Once Neville had been talked out of any rash actions, Danny had then for the first time dived into the connection he shared with You-Know-Who with purpose. He could not fight, not crippled as he was, but he could look for information. And what information he had found. Apparently most of the werewolves in the Death Eater's army were treated no better than they had been by the Ministry; instead of being kept with the rest of the Dark wizards, they were forced into separate barracks far away from anyone else. Most Dark creatures were dangerous all the time, but it was a full week after the full moon, which meant the werewolves were nothing more than normal men. Not even normal wizards, because lycanthropy was bound to blood rather than magic, so Muggles could also be affected by the curse. They just did not tend to last long after being bitten.

Mad-Eye waved for everyone to stop, and they came to a halt still well within the tree line. In front of them was a ramshackle inn falling apart around itself, the exact kind of place bigots like the Death Eaters would stuff the allies they were allied with only for convenience. "I see them. They're all gathered up in the big room in the middle. No guards."

"That's great for us," Carson said, earning a number of nods from the rest of the group.

"It's weird is what it is. It's a rookie mistake. They can't have made it this long and still be rookies." Mad-Eye shook his head. "No, this doesn't feel right."

Elphias Doge, the oldest wizard in their group, cleared his throat and stepped forwards to the tree line. "With all due respect to your experience, Moody, I think you are jumping at shadows. It isn't a trap. They simply made a mistake that works in our favor."

Doge took a bold step away from the trees… and nothing happened. No giant snakes boiling up out of the ground. No Death Eaters Apparating in to kill them for their insolence. Nothing at all. If they needed any more proof that Mad-Eye's paranoia was getting to him, this was it.

A quick _Alohamora_ from Doge's wand granted them access to the building, and the Order slipped inside. Mad-Eye was the last to enter, and due to James's missing leg, he was next to last in the line and could catch bits and pieces of Mad-Eye's mutterings. He rolled his eyes at the complaints the former Auror was saying under his breath. For all he apparently thought the rest of the Order was dumb and reckless, they were not forcing him to come along.

What was that quote Lily would sometimes say to him, Danny, and Remus? _'Who is more foolish, a fool or the fool who follows him_ '? If Mad-Eye was so convinced this was a trap, he could have stayed outside until they were done. It wasn't even going to be a hard fight!

At the head of the line, James could just barely see Doge open another door and peer inside. "Almost there, I think. Moody, are all the werewolves still there?"

The look Mad-Eye gave Doge said quite plainly that he was thinking about just not answering the question, but after a long pause he finally replied. "No one's moved from where they were. If you're going to surprise them, everyone had better be ready to cast quick and dodge quicker."

That at least sounded like good advice. Everyone's wand was already out as they moved faster towards the middle room. Carson did not open the door but instead blew it open, and they rushed in. The incantation for the Stunning Charm was already on James's lips as he ran inside as fast as his leg would permit him.

Their haste was all for naught.

The men and women sitting inside were wearing rags, just as would be expected by most werewolves; without steady jobs, they had little enough income to spend on any of life's necessities, which meant wearing clothes until they were literally falling off their bodies and gathering food from the wild if at all possible. What he had not expected was for them to just sit there unmoving as a team of wizards burst in.

James looked around, still expecting someone or something to jump out of the corners at them, but all was still. The quiet sent a shiver of nerves down his spine. Maybe Mad-Eye had been right when he said something was wrong here.

Arthur Weasley took some hesitant steps towards one of the men, his caution falling when it became obvious the man was not about to lunge at them. "Don't worry. We're here to help you. Can you tell us what happened?"

The man let out a stream of incomprehensible babble, lots of vowel sounds with only a few hard sounds mixed in. Tears started streaming down his face, and he opened his mouth to reveal a dark empty hole where a tongue should be.

If there were any doubts about the situation, they were now dispelled.

Arthur tried to pull the poor man to his feet, but no matter how hard he tugged, the man stayed stubbornly on top of the box where he was sitting. It was not through the victim's will, either, because he was doing what he could to try to help. "He's been hit with a Sticking Charm," was Arthur's final assessment.

"Wait!" Mad-Eye barked when he saw the wand in Arthur's hand.

The old Auror was too late. As soon as Arthur swished his wand and said " _Finite incantatum_ ," the sound of shattering glass filled the air. The man was freed, but now they seriously had to consider at what cost.

Blue eye spinning round and round and round, Mad-Eye snarled. "Here they come. Death Eaters on all sides of the building. Most likely an alarm hooked up to a ward that would trip whenever magic is cast in this room."

"We need to get out of here!" yelled Carson.

And yet, for all the obvious danger, everyone hesitated. It was easy to see why. James looked around them at all the people trapped here. Twenty, thirty maybe? If they ran, these people would almost certainly die now that the trap had been sprung. If they stayed to free everyone, they all could very well die.

"Knew it was a bloody trap," Mad-Eye muttered to himself. "All right. Anyone who knows how to transfigure wood into metal or thinks they can learn the spell right quick, over here. The rest of you, start freeing the prisoners. Move it!"

James hobbled his way to the transfiguration group and then began reforming the wall of the room into solid plating. The plan Mad-Eye had come up with in those few seconds was simple enough it might just work. Turning all the walls, and particularly the doors, into metal thick enough that the Death Eaters could not blast their way in would give them a couple of extra minutes before they had angry Dark wizards doing their best to kill everyone. As soon as all the prisoners were unstuck, they would Apparate away—

Mad-Eye spun in place. "Apparation ward's up."

—or they would all die here.

The Auror stood in place and tapped his wand against his leg for ten or twenty seconds, long enough for the room to be entirely clad in metal. Then, without a word to anyone, he cast a spell at the ground. The flooring ripped itself apart, and he knelt down to touch the bare earth that was revealed. "Quick construction, set up in a hurry. A real house would have a stone foundation, or the Muggles would use that concrete stuff. But… Potter!"

He hustled over as best as he could while Mad-Eye cast a spell that drilled a hole several feet wide into the dirt. "Good enough. We might be able to dig a tunnel out of this place. The wards shouldn't be very big, mostly just enough to cover the house. As soon as we get past the ward line, we can Disapparate. Work behind me and shore up the walls so it doesn't collapse on top of us. Everyone! Get your prisoners ready and come behind us! Someone who can conjure wood, you're in the rear to hide our way out!"

More dirt spun out of the hole at record speeds, and after a few moments Mad-Eye hopped into the hole and started working outwards underneath the wall. James shrugged and dropped down after him. The old wizard was quick, he would give him that, and for the first part of the tunnel James fell farther and farther behind as he transfigured the dirt from a knee-high pile the entire width of the tunnel into a smaller amount of stone around the outside. Getting a little desperate as he heard footsteps behind him, he dropped the finesse he normally liked in his transfigurations and just turned part of the dirt into stone that he smeared back and forth around the roof of the tunnel in wide swaths.

Right now he was quite jealous of Lily's talent for point-casting. Sure, she could barely do anything without an incantation, but if their positions were changed he would have been able to just swish his wand and have the arches made. Instead he had to perform the entire wand movement before directing the solidifying stone, which made his task that much longer. Or he could be like Mad-Eye, who had not made a single wand motion _or_ incantation the whole time they had been here.

At the far end of the tunnel, Mad-Eye flicked his wand to spew colored flames into his left hand and continued digging. James, however, could not help but stare in surprise. He had seen that cold fire spell before – Remus had been quite fond of using his own silver flames to read by in the middle of the night back when they were students – but he never would have associated Mad-Eye Moody of all people with that rosy pink light.

"I don't hear you casting, Potter."

He jumped at the growl and resumed his work.

The light from behind winked out as more wood was created over the mouth of the pit, and now the only hope they had was that Mad-Eye's plan worked as it should. There were so many ways this could go wrong. He could misjudge where the ward ended and leave them climbing out of the ground defenseless. The Death Eaters could rip their way into the room they had just left and flood the tunnel with fire or water or just conventional curses. They could all suffocate down here.

…Merlin, now James could start to see where Mad-Eye's paranoia came from!

Mad-Eye slowed to a stop. "Hold on a few seconds. There are a few Death Eaters walking the perimeter, but we should have a window to escape in a matter of seconds." Sure enough, it was only five or six seconds before he cast that drilling spell again, this time at the roof of the tunnel. "Grab your prisoners and Side-Along them back to Hogwarts."

Since James did not have a prisoner, he squeezed to the side to give the first group a little more room to get away from the house and hopefully away from the wards. The first pair stepped forwards, Emmeline Vance looking up at the hole with some doubt, but then she spun on her heel and pulled her prisoner with her.

They both vanished.

"Go, go, go!"

The rest of the Order moved as though the Grim itself was on their heels, and cracks started echoing in the tunnel. "You better get moving, too, Potter," warned Mad-Eye as he kept his face turned towards the hole at the surface. "Soon enough they'll hear us Disapparating and come to investigate. It'll turn into a fight once that happens."

"I'm not afraid of fighting."

"Not afraid?" Mad-Eye's scoff was almost lost in the crack of another Disapparation. "We're talking about fighting off Death Eaters while we're stuck in a hole and covering for the escape of twenty-something injured and traumatized victims. If that doesn't scare you, you aren't someone I want watching my back. That's the last of them," he said when the final member of the Order had vanished. "Time to get back to the castle."

* * *

"How are they?" Albus asked when Mad-Eye stomped into the small room the former had taken to using as the headquarters for the Order.

"How are they?" He laughed mockingly, his eye swirling to take in everything around him and make sure there were no eavesdroppers lurking about. "Twenty-six Muggles were kidnapped, tortured, had their tongues cut out, and were used as bait in a trap. How do you think they are? Pomfrey's keeping them sedated while Snape and I modify their memories."

"I see," replied Albus with a frown. "Has Poppy been able to heal their injuries, then?"

He shook his head. "Their tongues were cut out with dark magic. There's no way to heal that. That's part of what makes the memory charming so hard. We can't just erase their memories; there needs to be a good story as to why they are in the shape they are. They saw enough of the Death Eaters that we're going with the idea they were kidnapped by a Muggle cult. If they were kept drugged up, it would help explain why their memories are so fragmented.

"As hard as that is, though, that isn't our big problem." Mad-Eye dropped into a nearby chair and focused both eyes on Albus. "That wasn't an accident. It was a trap Voldemort set for _us_."

"You think there is a spy in the Order."

"I _know_ there is a spy in the Order, and you and I both know who it is."

Albus sighed and shook his head. "Young Draco has already denied being a Death Eater, and his wounds proved it. Nor has he done anything that would work in Voldemort's favor."

"I'll believe his denial when he makes it under Veritaserum," Mad-Eye said bluntly.

"Alastor! I cannot permit you to interrogate a _child_ with a truth potion based purely on a hunch!"

He could not help it. Letting out a rough, mocking laugh, he shook his head and stared at Albus. "You don't get it. I'm not asking for your permission. I've already sent a couple of people to drag him back, and I already have the potion. This is going to happen whether you like it or not."

Albus stared at him in confusion that was rapidly turning into anger, and he continued before the other wizard could get another word in. "I've trusted you as far as I possibly can, Albus. I held my tongue when you gave directions that I disagreed with, thinking you had information you weren't revealing to the rest of us. I tried to shore up the Order when it was falling apart. I played peacemaker between you and the Ministry. But this is as far as I go. We have proof that there is a spy in the Order, and if it were up to you you would refuse to pursue him because in your eyes he's still a schoolboy. I can't trust someone who is that blinded by his ideas of 'redemption' that he will ignore an obvious enemy and at the same time is so in love with his own ego that he picks fights with his only allies.

"A plucky attitude and belief that we're in the right won't keep us safe when we're alone and surrounded by people trying to kill us."

"Is this where we part ways, then, Alastor? With you betraying the Order?"

"You aren't the Order, Albus! You're just a single foolish old man who refuses to see his faults!" Mad-Eye shook his head and turned towards the door. His magical eye swiveled around to stare through his own skull at Albus. He hoped it wouldn't come to it, but if a fight broke out… "If you can't understand that, you aren't fit to lead the Order."

Albus whipped his wand from his pocket, and that was the last straw. Mad-Eye cast the spell he already had in his mind and watched Albus fly back from the explosion against the castle floor. The older wizard slammed into a heavy desk and shoved both body and wood several inches back.

"Look at yourself, Albus," he said with a sigh. "You just went to curse someone in the back because they disagreed with you."

A sluggish shake of his head, and Albus began climbing to his feet. "I can't allow you to tear down everything we are. We are the Light. If you act like a Dark wizard, then that is all you will become."

That accusation burned, and it rid him of any regret he might have felt for what he was about to do. "So who will die like Ariana tonight?"

That question punched through Albus's thick skull like an awl, or perhaps it was just the name that was mentioned. "W-What did you say?"

"You're picking a fight with someone because he disagrees with how you want the world to work. Not an enemy but a friend, and you're willing to throw that relationship away because he won't do exactly what you tell him to do." Albus's arm fell of its own accord, and Mad-Eye took a step closer. "Who are you going to kill like your sister just to salve your wounded ego?"

"…How do you know about her?"

"Aberforth told me about that night years ago, Albus."

The other man stared at him in surprise. "You never said you were friends with Aberforth. Or that you knew about that."

He snorted. "You don't know who all my friends are, Albus. It's none of your business. And I didn't bring it up before now because I thought you had learned from that tragedy. Clearly you didn't. You're once again acting based on your pride, except this time you can't fall back on the excuse of being young and stupid."

"No, apparently I'm just old and stupid." Albus ran his hands through his hair and put his wand away. He was examining his own faults? Would wonders never cease. "You're sure you need to interrogate the boy?"

"That depends. How many good people are you willing to send to their deaths on the off chance you can sway one man from the path he _chose_ to walk?"

Albus hung his head at that question, and they both knew it was the end of the argument. Mad-Eye gave him a nod and walked out of the room to where he had told Washington and Samuelson to bring Malfoy. It took a moment, but Albus followed in his wake. When they arrived, both men were already there, and the brat was tied down to a chair in the middle with a gag stuffed in his mouth and glaring at everyone he could see. "Anyone see you?"

"We were neither seen nor heard, no matter how hard he tried to make the second part."

"Good." Why they went with a gag rather than a Silencing Charm he had no idea, but so long as it was effective, it was excusable. Both these men had been on the last mission, so they were personally interested in finding out whether this little punk had sold them out to the enemy. "Pull out the gag."

" _Blugh_! What do you think—" Malfoy's protests were cut off by Mad-Eye clamping his left hand around his jaw and yanking up and forwards. With his right hand, he pulled the vial of Veritaserum out of his pocket, uncorked it, and tipped it far enough that three drops fell into Malfoy's open mouth. The potion acted quickly, so he had no concern that the boy would be able to spit them out. By the time the vial was back in his pocket, Malfoy's eyes were slightly glazed over, and he was listing in his seat.

"All right, let's start with the basics. Tell me your name and date of birth."

"Draco Lucius Malfoy. June fifth, 1980."

Excellent. Now for the real information. "Do you serve Voldemort?"

"Yes."

Behind Mad-Eye, Albus's shoulders fell, and he raised a hand to his face. Not that Mad-Eye could blame him. Finding out he was so tremendously, abhorrently wrong had to sting.

"What information have you passed on to Voldemort?" he asked. Might as well find out just how bollixed up they were now.

"None."

Both his eyes zeroed in on Malfoy. "None? You haven't told Voldemort anything you've picked up from being here in the castle?" The boy shook his head. "Why not?"

"That wasn't my task."

Oh? Well now, things were getting more interesting. "What was your task, then?" Sabotage or assassination, those were the only options that made sense. Get an inside man into Hogwarts, and it gave Voldemort a hand he could use to destroy his opposition.

"I was supposed to create divisions within the Order. Play Dumbledore's love of a sob story against the people who might have some idea what they were doing. If I could get access to the people who tied the Order and the Ministry together, I was supposed to poison them against each other. The Dark Lord did not ask for immediate results. He wanted me to move slow and unseen."

Sabotage. Called it.

"You didn't even do that, though," Albus cut in. "You showed up to two Order meetings and then focused on your classwork."

A creepy smile spread on the brat's face. "Because I didn't need to. You were already crumbling away from the inside, and the Order and the Ministry hate each other. You did my whole job for me without any prompting."

Washington and Samuelson both flushed at that bald statement, but as much as Mad-Eye hated to admit this Death Eater scum was right about anything, he had them pegged on this. They could not seem to work together when their lives were literally on the line, could they? That was a damning accusation if there ever was one.

Albus frowned, his eyes growing more piercing behind his glasses. "How did you get the marks on your back I saw when you asked me for asylum? They looked like legitimate burns and lashings from torture."

"They were." Mad-Eye blinked. "Bellatrix spent weeks planning them out and a couple of days whipping me. They looked worse then they really were, and I had a Pain-Numbing Charm on my back from the time she made them to a few minutes before I went to you. She said they would heal with minimal scars, and even those could be dealt with once I put some Scar-Vanishing Potion on them."

"Why…? Why would allow yourself to be tortured? Why would you do any of this?" Albus demanded in a whisper.

"Because if you believed that I would ever ask Muggle-lovers and blood traitors like you for help just because I said I saw the error of my ways, you would be an even bigger fool than I took you for." Malfoy's grey eyes gleamed. "I thought it would take more effort to deceive you, but it was almost too easy. Not even my own mother trusted my professions of innocence from what I heard, and you didn't realize that was a sign something was wrong.

"This is why I agreed to serve the Dark Lord. This is why you will lose this war. This is why you will die screaming beneath his feet."

* * *

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, which some people might generously call a throne, and lazily tapped his fingers on the arms. "They still escaped, and with the Muggles too?"

"Yes, my lord. They tunneled out to a spot beyond the wards. We could not see the hole in the bait room because it had been covered with conjured wood that looked just like the rest of the wood in the place. We only found it once we saw the exit hole and followed the tunnel back."

"I see." He leaned his head back and let out a small exhale through his nasal slits. "I had hoped at least a few of them would die in that, but this is a good reminder that they have some competent people in their ranks. Likely it was that Auror, Moody, that was leading them last night."

"We will do better next time, my lord, I swear it—"

He waved the promises of future success off. "They will be more cautious next time, of that much I'm sure. It was probably overly ambitious anyway. Regardless, it is of no great importance. If we can kill even a few of them, the plan will have been a success in my eyes. You're dismissed."

The Death Eater bowed and scurried out of the room, and he rubbed the inside corners of his eyes with one hand. Yes, he had overreached. Successful raids on a few 'safe houses' had given the Order the confidence to spring his trap, but he should have offered up more new recruits or something between those raids and this trap to increase its odds of working.

No use crying over spilled milk, he supposed. It wasn't as though he had pinned his hopes for his campaign on it. It was more an interesting diversion than anything else, to be honest.

And speaking of diversions…

He pushed himself to his feet and left the pseudo-conference room he had set up next to his war room and let his feet guide him to a plain wooden door. It opened at his approach, sensing the charmed key he kept on his person, and revealed the spartan layout of his workshop. This was the only place in the castle that guaranteed him peace and quiet, which he had discovered was essential when experimenting with black magic.

Touching his finger to several runes carved into the top of a cabinet, he waited for the glow of his security measures to fade away before pulling one drawer open and pulling out a small gold cauldron no bigger than his two cupped hands. Only after he had set it on the table in the middle of the room did he unlatch the lid. It was not a potion that swirled within the cauldron, but instead clear spring water he had collected himself and a single eyeball.

He plucked the eye from the water and rolled it around in his hand. With only a whisper of will, the bright green eye, unclouded as though it had been removed from its owner minutes ago rather than months, grew and turned slightly transparent. It was the closest anyone would ever come to see the great Voldemort use a crystal ball.

"Now," he breathed onto the ensorcelled eye, "what other chaos can we create together?"

* * *

**And this is the last time I'll be using Draco Malfoy as a punching bag for a while. His role in my next story will be… interesting.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	30. Meryton

**Acerman:** Yeah, when this story is all over I think I'll wind up writing _Eternal Fantasy_. My apologies to everyone who is (still) anticipating _Team Hellhound_ , but I'm going to need a nice little story as a palate cleanser before I start what I'm afraid will become another massive epic.

 **Archer1eye:** I'll go into more detail about how and why Danny's eye works next chapter. Voldemort fixed his issues with the soul binding off-screen during his sabbatical last book.

* * *

**Chapter 30  
** **Meryton**

"Hey, Jen? I need you for a strange conversation."

Jen blinked in befuddlement at Justin's sudden and unprompted announcement. "I think I may be in one already. What brought this up? And with whom? And why? And… Actually, let's stick with those questions first."

He grimaced slightly and glanced up at the front where Flitwick was answering some last-minute questions. "I… I just need you to trust me on this one."

Well, then. She leaned back slightly and gave him a serious look. On the one hand, Justin was one of her 'court', the very people whom by definition she should be able to trust. On the other, that need for blind trust did not exactly fill her with confidence. What was the root of this secrecy he was entangled within? "You're sure you can't tell me."

"It's not that it needs _secrecy_ , exactly. It's more that I, well…" He shrugged. "I need you to go into this with an open mind."

Not the answer she was expecting. Not at all. That, of course, was piquing her interest more than was probably healthy, but nonetheless she gave him a nod. She _did_ trust Justin. If he thought it was that important that she withhold immediate judgement, then she could give him the benefit of the doubt.

He smiled in relief, and then both of them were stuck watching the clock for the last few minutes before the last class of the day was finally released. Her bag was swiftly packed, and soon they split from the rest of the seventh-years heading for their dorms and dinner to take a turn down yet another unused and unfamiliar corridor.

By the Baron, she would love to see what Hogwarts looked like when all its rooms were filled. Or had the Founders perhaps been overly optimistic when building the castle and thus put enough space in that even now, a thousand years later, the student body was still not large enough to need all the rooms given to them? It was an interesting thought, and one she might need to try interrogating the Grey Lady or the Bloody Baron about at some time or another.

They stopped in front of an unremarkable door, and Justin shot her an expression both warning and pleading before he opened the door. Her sonar revealed the identities of the people within a split second before her eyes did, and she turned back to her friend. "My mind is still somewhat open, but it's going to close if I don't get an explanation in short order."

Only two people were inside the room, both of them seated at a table for four. Her eyes met Sally-Anne Perks, the Badger giving her a weak smile in return, and then they drifted over to Neville Longbottom. Why did he, the last of the Longbottoms, want to meet with _her_? He and his grandmother despised her for claiming Bellatrix as her mother. Her first thought was that this was a setup, possibly a duel of some kind, but were that the case she would have expected him to have Weasley or perhaps Finnigan as his second, not a random Hufflepuff. Yet there was no hint of anyone else in the room besides those two, not even a void where a couple of Lions could hide beneath Death's cloak.

It was the total strangeness of this situation that was keeping her here. This did not fit with her reading of Longbottom's personality.

Justin nudged her into the room and to the table. "So, er, here you both are," he said in an awkward voice. "Neville, I think you had something to say to Jen?"

…No. This had better not be some kind of intervention. If Justin was trying to get her and Longbottom to kiss and make up, she was going to be looking for a new friend to fill her circle.

Thankfully for everyone, Longbottom cleared his throat. "Black. What do you know about the murders You-Know-Who committed? The ones he put in the _Prophet_?"

"Not much. Only who some of his victims were." A grimace swept across his face, and she slowly tilted her head towards him in a nod. If he was going to be polite, she was more or less obligated to return the courtesy. "You have my condolences, by the way."

"Thanks, I guess." Longbottom shook his head and rallied himself again. "He didn't send anyone to prison like the _Prophet_ said. _Some people_ went to our home to see what happened, and they found that everyone had run into the manor before they died."

She kept from rolling her eyes at the overly vague allusion to the Order, but it was close. "So everyone was killed in Longbottom Manor. I fail to see—"

"The manor was under the Fidelius Charm along with all the other wards we have on the property. Still is; none of them were broken. And these people weren't killed by Death Eaters. They were all Kissed by the Dementors."

Jen leaned back into her chair and stared piercingly at Longbottom. Stretching her mental probes towards him, she asked, "You're sure of this?"

"Yes."

He was not lying, that was for sure, though that did not prove that he told the truth. It just meant he thought what he was saying was true. Still, this was a problem. If the wards and the Fidelius Charm were both still active over Longbottom Manor, it meant the Dementors had some way to sidestep those defenses. It was one thing for them to do that to the Longbottoms, but Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place were both defended by wards, too. That was more of a problem.

"You're sure the wards and charm are still intact?" He nodded. "That is disturbing, I can't argue that. But if the Dementors can walk through wards, why hasn't You-Know-Who sent them here after us already?"

"I have no idea. Maybe he just hasn't thought of doing that yet, but he will. That's what I… need your help with," he continued with a faint grimace. "We need to get rid of the Dementors before they get rid of us."

"Get rid. Of the Dementors." If nothing else, she had to give him points for ambition. Just get rid of ancient demons that had served the Ministry for who knew how long. Easy. "You do realize how insane this sounds, yes?"

That got a laugh out of him, though it was not exactly a happy sound. "You think I don't know that? I do, but what other choice do we have? Wait for You-Know-Who to send them out here to murder us all in our sleep?"

True enough. "What made you come to me for help, then? I hope it wasn't because you think I can kill them all single-handedly. I'm good, but I'm not that good."

From the look on his face, he would be arguing with one of those statements if he were not here asking for her help with some element of this plan. "No one can possibly do this on their own. I've been talking to the other Gryffindors, and they're ready to do our part, but getting the rest of the Houses on board has been…"

"Difficult," she finished for him. Of course it would be. Gryffindor's star had been falling at least since she started here, and certainly since their grand 'hero' Potter was shown to be so lacking. The other Houses would not go on a suicide mission like this just because Longbottom asked, even if he got down on his knees and begged. He thought she would be able to rustle up some volunteers, and he was probably right about that one. Perhaps he was even facing trouble getting his own people to agree to this, people who were smart enough to refuse when it looked like it was just going to be a few of them taking on Voldemort's entire demonic host.

Then again, there was still another source of assistance he had not mentioned, though perhaps that was due to the Order and the Ministry's constant pissing match. "Why not ask Susan to help? She could arrange a meeting between you and her aunt and maybe get the Aurors involved."

"I did. All she said was that I was crazy."

She chuckled at his dry response. "Smart girl. Still, I agree this needs to be addressed. I'm curious, though; do you have a plan beyond 'we need to stop the Dementors'? Like where they even are, for starters?"

"It's rough, but yes, there is a plan being developed. The exact details are going to depend on how many people will join us. And yes, we know where they are, how many of them there are, that they aren't particularly active. We have a source," he added at the end when she gave him a raised eyebrow.

That… was a significant amount of information, assuming it was actually true. How could Longbottom possibly have a source that could give him that much detail? The Order, as best as she knew, had lost their only spy among the Death Eaters when Snape left, so he could not get his intel from them, but at the same time the idea that he had cultivated his own contacts within Voldemort's ranks was quite frankly ludicrous.

Somehow, she doubted he would part with the identity of said source.

"I can't give you a solid answer just yet. I need to do a bit of digging and talk to my own contacts. We'll see if their information matches up with yours. Once I know, I'll let you know." She flicked her eyes to the Badgers who were still sitting silently beside them. "There is one more thing I'm curious about. I can see why Justin grabbed me for this, but if I had been forced to guess ahead of time, I would have expected you to bring either Granger or Weasley with you. Not Perks, no offense."

"When was the last time either of us had a reasonable conversation with one another?"

She sent him a short nod in agreement with his point. They had never gotten along, mostly because none of Potter's friends or family had the good grace to leave her the hell alone. "So we have a couple of Hufflepuff moderators, then. I assume you and Perks are friends?"

He nodded, and so did Perks, though the little blonde was also slightly flushed in the cheeks. "Y-Yeah, we're… we're friends."

The corners of her lips twitched. Longbottom didn't even realize Perks wanted to get in his pants, did he? Oh well. Not her problem.

"I'll talk to my people as soon as I can. I will agree with you on this, Longbottom; the Dementors, whether we can fight them or not, are not a force we can trifle with."

* * *

The wizards stationed throughout the hallway might as well have been asleep for all the attention they paid Jen when she walked through the section of the castle claimed as the new Ministry offices. Admittedly, their behavior could be due to the fact she was wrapped up in her invisibility and floating above the floor instead of poor preparation on their parts, but that was no excuse when someone thought about it. An assassin planning on murdering the Minister would not go about dressed in flashy robes or stop to make conversation with everybody she saw. They really did need to be more vigilant.

And on that note, she thought with a grin, perhaps this would be something to let slip to Dora and Moody later on, just so the latter would run the remaining staff of the DMLE through the wringer.

She wove a Notice-Me-Not charm over the door to keep anyone from asking any awkward questions and dropped her invisibility. Peering through, she found the minister, as expected.

"Miss Black, this is a pleasant surprise," said the older man in a grey robe sitting on the near side of the desk. "Please, come in."

"Could you please not invite people into _my_ office, Croaker?" Bones said with a sigh, though it was resigned as if from long experience.

Croaker was _not_ someone she expected to be here. What was going on that had the Unspeakables' liaison in a secret meeting with the Minister of Magic? "…I can come back later."

"Not at all, not at all. We were finished already," explained Croaker while he summoned several of the parchments strewn about Bones's desk back to his hand and stuffed them into a pocket within his robes.

"That doesn't mean you can traipse in here whenever you like. I have staff—"

"Apologies for interrupting, Minister, but considering I'm here in my capacity as your pet dark witch, I figured this was something you probably wanted to hear directly."

That earned her the undivided attention of both individuals. Croaker because, she presumed, he was surprised at the idea that she was on call as a known dark witch for the Minister's dirty deeds, and Bones because the last time she was in this role she had lead her fellow students in committing genocide against a bunch of harpies. "I had an interesting conversation yesterday with Neville Longbottom. From what he told me, and I have had not had a chance to confirm this, the rebels the _Prophet_ claimed had been captured were actually murdered within their ancestral home. Not just murdered, but given the Dementor's Kiss. The Order subsequently determined that the wards on the property had all been left intact. Including a Fidelius Charm," she added with a wry almost-smile.

"Which implies the Dementors can bypass wards," Bones said. Let it never be said the Minister was an idiot. "That's a terrifying ability, but if they are truly capable of it, why hasn't Voldemort used them on us already?"

"I had that same question, and there is no good answer. He may have been unaware of it until recently. If that's the case, it is only a matter of time before he sends them after us. That was why Longbottom approached me. He plans to gather the same students who went after the harpies and have them incapacitate or destroy the Dementors, probably to get revenge for the death of his grandmother."

Bones shook her head. "That's such a stupid idea I don't even know where to begin."

"In any other circumstance, I would agree with you wholeheartedly, but in this case I'm afraid it might be a stupid necessity. Unless there is an easier and more effective personal defense against them than the Patronus or an area defense they can't get through, either we move against them preemptively or we sit back and wait for Voldemort to wise up and destroy our souls."

From the look on the older witch's face, she had no better suggestion than Jen, and she turned to the Unspeakable in the room. "Croaker, weird magic is your department's purview. Can you shed some light on exactly what kind of a fight we would be dealing with?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. It's been a while since I read anything about the Dementors, but from what I do remember we don't know a lot about them in the first place. It is impossible to communicate with them without a specific relic that no one has ever been able to duplicate. Even using it, they cannot give us any solid information about their origins. Whether that is because they lack the necessary intelligence or simply do not remember no one can say.

"What we do know about them is that they are psychovorous spirits that were found only on the island of Azkaban. Best as we can determine, they are not native to this plane of existence at all. Back in the thirteenth or fourteenth century, a dark wizard whose name I do not recall either created or summoned them within the depths of his fortress. Why he would do so we cannot say for sure, but the most obvious likelihood is that he planned to use them as terror weapons. He was afterward defeated and killed in battle by a coalition assembled from the now long-extinct Order of the Golden Rose. When his fortress was searched, the Dementors were found in the lowest depths. Questioning even while wearing the artifact was unenlightening, though as the only records we have of that encounter were written years after the fact or are third-hand accounts at best, it is possible information has been lost in the intervening years. The best suspicion anyone has is that this dark wizard summoned whatever creatures or spirits became the Dementors and then moved them into physical vessels so he would not have to sustain the demand of such a large Evocation with his own magic, but afterwards either could not deploy them before the Order defeated him or determined they were too dangerous to use on the battlefield in the first place. His fortress was subsequently converted into Azkaban Prison, and the Dementors were left where they were. Further attempts to study them were deemed futile."

Jen stared at him in disbelief. "These things were so dangerous that their own creator was afraid to use them, and the Ministry made them _prison guards_."

Croaker lifted his hands. "I did not claim it was a brilliant move. The ultimate reasoning for this decision was likely that the Dementors have little in the way of initiative. They do not _want_. Whatever directions are given to them they follow to the best of their ability and understanding."

"Which was all well and good until it was another Dark Lord giving them directions. Now it's a huge liability," sighed Bones. "Black, please tell me there was some sort of actual plan to all this and not the stereotypical Gryffindor 'rush in and hope for the best' bullshit."

"Longbottom claimed there was a rough plan, but he didn't tell me what it was or whether it was rough from a Gryffindor perspective or a normal one. I have my own ideas, though." Pulling out a palm-sized piece of paper from her pocket, she unfolded it until there was a map of Britain draped over Bones desk. "I have some contacts who live and work in the Muggle world, and I asked them several months ago to look for various places where there were mass disappearances or disruptions in utility deliveries or any other oddities. It took a while, but one of them figured out where the Dementors have likely made their nest."

She tapped a blank spot on the map. "It's a small town in Cumbria county named Meryton. Population is, or was anyway, less than 500 people. Not many, but apparently enough to feed the Dementors for a long while. The town itself was made Unplottable at some point, though as it is a purely Muggle town that alone indicates this was Voldemort's doing. Obviously, this is therefore an approximate location; my contact spent months trying to find the place and eventually was able to find a couple of lists with distances from other towns, which let him triangulate where it was."

Even through the enslavement curse she had put on a couple of years ago, Eddie Croft had still been quite miffed with going through so much effort. It had probably also cut down tremendously on the amount of time she had before the spell drove him insane. She had put the spell in stasis once again to extend her control, but how long that would hold and if she would get any further use out of him before his mind finally broke was impossible to predict. That was a major pain, particularly because she would have a devil of a time finding another wizard with similar access to the Muggle police.

"Regarding an actual _plan_ , we can't make one until we have more information. Thanks to the Unplottability, it's impossible to know the layout of the town or where within it the Dementors have holed up. We don't know how much cover there is, if there are any entrances that would be easily boobytrapped, anything at all. My suggestion would be to send a small group of people, no more than ten, to scope out the town. A bigger force could be on standby and ready to portkey to the most defensible location and from there raze the town to the ground."

Jen pushed herself straight and waited for Bones's reply. Longbottom could be confident in heading out with only a bunch of fellow students all he wanted, but if she was going to go after Dementors, she wanted at least some Hit Wizards in the group and preferably a couple of Aurors. For that kind of backup, she needed the Minister's approval.

"That doesn't address the biggest problem with any of this. How do you plan to destroy them?" asked Bones.

"I don't know right now," she admitted. "The Patronus drives them away, but I don't know if it can kill them. Can they be crippled by being crushed or blasted? That would be the easiest thing to do, that or tie them up with some kind of binding spell. All else fails, I have a spell in my repertoire that is basically Fiendfyre's little brother. It isn't as destructive, but it's far easier to control."

Croaker cleared his throat. "Dementors are resistant to most direct magical effects, so binding them will be all but impossible. Using magic to manipulate the environment might work better, but it's never been tested. Your own spell would only be effective if it retains Fiendfyre's ability to feed off ambient mana…" She gave him a nod. "Good, but even then, it might only discourage the Dementors from approaching rather than destroying them. There is just too much about the Dementors' magic and physiology that we don't know."

Bones ran her hand through her hair. "Merlin's beard, I can't believe I'm doing this. All right, Black. You want some backup? I'll send you Tonks and Moody, both of whom should be able to help you move quietly. Hit Wizards and the rest of the Aurors will be on standby."

Clever bitch. Moody she had not made her mind up about, but sending her own cousin with her was a good way to ensure she would not stab them in the back or even just leave them behind to die. Forcing a smile on her face, Jen said, "There is also the small problem of Longbottom. He claimed to have information about the town and the Dementors, and if he isn't included there is a high chance he and some of his pals will run off and do their own thing."

"Fine, fine! By all accounts your class's team system worked well against the harpies. Take your and Longbottom's teams with you, and you have a ten-man scouting force. I'm just worried that will still be too many," she added with a hard look at Jen.

"I won't say this is without risk, Minister. Everyone will be filled in before they can agree, and no one will be pushed into coming." She took a slight breath. "Let Dora and Moody know that we're going to move out first thing tomorrow morning. This needs to happen now, before we're all dead."

* * *

Jen looked over the items she had spread on her bed. This was the kind of fight she loathed, one where all advantages were worthless, and that meant she needed to be as prepared for anything.

Unfortunately, there was not much here that would shine in an active combat situation. Her dragonhide coat had no inherent armor properties, and while it could be strengthened by braiding a rune crafted from her hair into the lining, the enemies she would face today would not attack her with curses or blades. Her ritual gear could deal an incredible amount of hurt, but that would take time she did not have and risked revealing that she was not just a dark witch but a _black_ witch, and that would not be waved away by flashing her ICW license. A picture of a sword drawn on paper represented Clarent, but even if she wanted to run to Grimmauld Place to grab the legendary Sword in the Stone and bring it back, she was no swordswoman. She would be more likely to behead one of her allies by accident.

No, knives were more her style. Flinging the useless items back into the locked drawer from which she had taken them, she picked up her bone dagger and slipped it into a conjured sheathe at the small of her back. It was a focus for her black magic, true, but neither Dora nor Moody would recognize it as such. She could simply pass it off a dark artifact if they asked. The only other potentially useful item was the flask she had filled with heartblood taken from the Lilin she had murdered back in the fall, and this was tied onto her belt. Still feeling pathetically unarmed, she left her dorm to find Tracey, Luna, and Morag waiting for her in the common room.

"Come on. Let's do something suicidally stupid."

The four girls marched down to the courtyard, where they found Longbottom and company waiting for them along with Dora and Moody. Longbottom broke his staring contest with Moody at their approach. "You got the Ministry involved?"

She honestly could not tell from his voice whether he was thankful, angry, or merely surprised at the Aurors' presence, and so her response was rather neutral. "If we're talking about going Dementor hunting, there is no way I'm doing it without people who know what they're doing. All it took was scheduling a meeting with Minister Bones."

Moody snorted disparagingly. Clearly he knew some of the details pertaining to said meeting. "We got the story from Bones yesterday. Took a bit of poking around, but I confirmed that the wards were still up at Augusta's place. What else do we know for sure?"

"The Dementors are kept in one place when You-Know-Who doesn't need them," Longbottom said, pulling a piece of parchment from his pocket and unfolding it. "They don't exactly sleep, but he has to wake them up from some kind of stasis. We were able to piece together some of the layout of the town where they are and make a rough map of the area."

"A map?" asked Dora, taking the sheet of parchment that Jen could now see had lines and boxes that presumably represented roads and buildings. "Isn't this place Unplottable?"

"Not that I know of."

"Yes," Jen said, shaking her head at Longbottom's and Weasley's glares. Apparently their informant was not all he or she was cracked up to be. "My own contacts confirmed that."

"You can make maps of what's inside an Unplottable Charm," explained Moody, "so long as you don't connect it to what's outside the spell's effects. What I'm worried about is how detailed your information is, Longbottom. I'm guessing you got it from Potter, didn't you?"

The quartet of Gryffindors glanced at one another before standing up straighter. "Yes, we did."

Jen raised one eyebrow in confusion. "How would Potter know this in the first place? I don't think You-Know-Who would share confidential information with his prisoners." Even though Voldemort had no idea that the Aurors were going in to save Potter, it still would have been the height of idiocy. Voldemort was not an idiot.

"Guess none of you girls would know any of this, would you? All right, short version is that thanks to whatever happened back in 1981 and being mentally tortured for a good six months, Potter has a back door into Voldemort's head. Course, the last time we used the information we got out of him to make a plan, we ran head first into a trap. The Dark Bastard's probably figured out when Potter digs around, and that means a lot of the information you got may already be out of date. We go in assuming the Dementors are all going to be awake and maybe even have Death Eaters with them.

"Next issue. Anyone figured out how to get there?"

From Granger's glare at the rest of the Lions, there had been some degree of argument. "No," she said finally. "That part we haven't managed."

"Meryton itself is protected against scrying," Jen said, looking at her nails and instead feeling the others' heads turning to face her with her sonar, "but thanks to my own contacts, I know how to get to it from someplace I _can_ scry. We'll still have a bit of a walk ahead of us, but these should drop us close enough."

She tossed two of the metal balls she had stuffed in her pockets to the Gryffindors and the Aurors and offered the third to her own group. "You're lucky we have bigger things to worry about than unlicensed portkeys, lassie," Moody grunted. "Activation method?"

"Wand tap." Making a show of drawing a blank wand out of her other pocket, she gave the orb a sharp tap even as she actually activated it with the hand holding it. An invisible fishhook yanked on her navel and pulled her up into the sky.

Minutes later, her boots slammed into soft earth, and she vanished the ball. The rest of the group arrived a couple of seconds after her friends had steadied themselves. "Could use some work on the departure, but not the worst ride I've ever had," Moody admitted, bringing a self-satisfied smile to her face. "Which way's the town?"

She pointed down the dirt road next to the field where they landed. "Half a kilometer that way."

The trek was a silent one, every one of them mentally preparing as best they could for what they were about to face. Not even Dora tried to make any small talk, though with how close she kept to Jen it was no mystery what she was thinking about. The sky had already been overcast, but the farther they walked the darker the clouds became and the closer the trees on either side of the road seemed to encroach upon them. Wisps of fog reached out like fingers from within the forest, and the group as a whole clustered closer and closer together.

They crested the top of a hill, and then they crouched down to stare at the village.

"Hard to see much with this damn fog, even with my eye," Moody muttered to them. "Proof enough it isn't natural. There are definitely Dementors here, that's for sure. We just won't be able to see them until they're right on top of us, and there's no telling what else is hiding in there."

Out there in the Muggle world, Jen's sonar extended a mere four meters, but still she smiled. "Then it's a good thing I sent someone to scout out the place already, isn't it?"

The rest of the group turned to stare at her. "You sent some poor bastard out here on his own?"

"Oh, don't worry, Dora. He was perfectly safe." A nearby tree rustled, and the flapping of wings announced the raven that swooped down to perch on her shoulder. She reached up to scratch Loki's breast. "See? Not even a feather out of place."

"…You sent your bird."

She just smirked at Moody's doubtful voice. "A smart familiar is worth more than its weight in gold or diamonds. Did you see anyone besides the Dementors?"

Loki chuffed and ruffled his feathers, not meeting her eyes. "The fog caused you problems too, didn't it?" she guessed, and this time he let out an affirmative croak.

"Are we seriously trusting intelligence obtained by a _bird_?"

"Don't mock that bird, Mad-Eye. He _will_ crap on your head."

"How about we take a closer look together?" she asked her familiar. "Remember how I borrowed your eyes when Hogsmeade was attacked? Let's do the same thing again."

Loki leaned over to press his forehead against her own, and they both closed their eyes. This time she could feel a faint rippling sensation, and when she opened her eyes again what she saw was from the raven's viewpoint. Loki gave the rest of the group a taunting call before taking off from her shoulder and flying towards Meryton.

"I still don't know how that's even possible," groused Granger. "Nothing I've ever read talks about seeing out of a familiar's eyes. Nothing even suggests that it can be done."

Moody grunted and sat down on the ground. "You won't find any books talking about that in Hogwarts, Granger. It's a mild form of possession. Technically it's a Dark Art, but when you start using it on your own pets all sorts of laws protecting wizards and their familiars come into play, and the lines start getting real blurry real quick."

"Not to mention I have an international license to practice the Dark Arts as I see fit, which makes the legality or lack thereof of this a moot point," Jen pointed out. "We're in the center of town right now. The Dementors are definitely _not_ in any kind of stasis. I see several of them drifting through the streets, and more are floating on the corners of rooftops. I don't know if they are patrolling or not, but most of the routes in and out are covered. Not all of them, though. I can already see a couple of paths that we could take that should keep us out of their lines of sight."

Dora cleared her throat. "Dementors don't actually look at things, Jen. They use some other kind of sense to find their way around. They've even been known to track people using cover to keep hidden."

That would make things more difficult. Was it a sense dedicated to finding souls or emotions? It would fit considering emotions were their food source, but if that were all they had they would constantly bump into walls. More likely they also had something similar to her own sonar, a sense of touch that extended well past their bodies. Jen directed Loki to come back and broke the connection. Rolling her neck around, she stopped as a thought came to her. "Hey, Dora? Didn't Sirius say they can't sense animals?" Technically he had said they could not sense him when he was in his Animagus form, but there was no need to reveal any of those details in current company.

Dora nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think he did. Probably why none of them bothered Loki. That won't help any of us get close, though… Jen? I don't like that smirk on your face."

She was indeed smirking, and she rolled her blank wand in her fingers. "You worry too much. I swear, I'm good at herding cats."

"Black, don't you dare!"

Minutes later, a line of house cats were walking down Main Street, a black cat with amethyst eyes taking point and the vanguard position held by a grey tom with a squashed face and a missing leg. The clowder meandered their way through the buildings and up an outdoor staircase to a door that was barely ajar, and only when they were all gathered in a living room did Jen shed her fur. As soon as she had hands, she threw up a Notice-Me-Not spell all around them.

A pastel tie-dyed cat stalked up and headbutted her hand, but she gave Dora a consoling pat. "Give me a minute to make sure this charm will keep the Dementors from finding us. I'm the only Animagus of all of us, so…" She shivered as a wave of cold washed over her, and rather than risk being found she transformed herself back into a cat. Worse case scenario, she was panicking for no good reason.

Her caution was well rewarded. A gush of mist blew in through the window, and from it floated a dark-cloaked figure. The Dementor hovered near the window for several minutes, turning its head back and forth as though it were trying to sniff them out. Jen could feel the fear nibbling at her mind even through her mental defenses, and from the way her friends and the Gryffindors had clustered in the corner, they were feeling it even worse. The only feline truly holding his own was Moody, who was actually sitting down and all but daring the Dementor to come over and start a fight. Finally deciding that whatever it had sensed was a false alarm, the Dementor turned and slipped back out the window.

Fluffing her fur out, Jen let the cat's instincts come out a little more as she bent her mind to the question of what to do. The Notice-Me-Not clearly was not the way to go. Continuing their exploration as animals was certainly a possibility, but she would not trust the others to maneuver as well as they could in cat form. What they really needed was a way to dampen their emotions and make them unrecognizable for the Dementors.

She stopped and considered what she had just thought for another moment. That… might just work.

Her inner cat had started cleaning herself while she was lost in her thoughts, and she dropped her forepaw back to the ground. Once again she retook her human shape, but this time the mental barrier she had created specifically for Lilin and Veela was firmly in place, and she swiftly followed it up with a calming charm. It was the same spell she had laid on the ring she and Luna used to facilitate their conversation earlier in the year regarding her feelings and true nature, and when they had been under its effects their ability to _feel_ had been significantly muted. This might be exactly what they needed.

A minute passed, then two. Satisfied that the Dementors were well and truly blind to her, she quickly conjured ten bracelets and imbued them with both the barrier and the cheering charm. She could not say how long the effect would last, and wearing the spells would be far better than them running out and everyone being surrounded by Dementors hungering for their souls.

"All right, this should work," she said as she slipped on her own bracelet. "Come over here one at a time. I will undo the transformation, and immediately you need to put these bracelets on. Actually, I take that back. I'll put the bracelet over your wrists while you're still cats and let you grow into it. There's a strong calming charm on them, so don't be surprised when you feel different."

The Siamese and pale cream-colored cats she had turned Tracey and Luna into were the first to walk towards her, but Moody stepped in front of them and stopped them with a look. He then padded up to her and stretched out an imperious paw. Even without the ability to speak, it was clear he wanted to be the first to get changed back.

"I'm hurt. Being a cat isn't that bad," she said with a faint laugh.

His fur and miniature form sloughed off, and he took a moment to readjust to having only one natural leg. "More like I don't like being transfigured. I also wanted to make sure these bracelets of yours were safe."

That one actually did hurt, though the tinge of anger such a comment would normal engender was muted enough that she could not even feel it. "My cousin and my friends are here too," she told him in a quiet voice, "and this is a job. Even if I wanted to throw away all the goodwill and trust I have with Bones, I would not put my family and friends at risk."

"Fair enough," he finally said. The nod he gave her was almost apologetic.

When everyone was back to their normal selves, Dora pulled them down closer to the floor. "Longbottom, do you still have that map?"

He handed it over, and she tapped a few of the lines and boxes. "I can't say for absolutely sure, but from what I saw this does mostly line up. There's just one major exception." She pointed at the far wall, on the opposite side of the window from which the Dementor had come and gone. "I saw a lodge or inn or something near the middle of town. Am I just misreading the map?"

Granger and Longbottom exchanged glances. "Danny didn't see everywhere in town, and he said he wasn't sure it if the map was entirely accurate. He didn't mention a lodge, though."

"You think this was an intentional oversight? Or just a mistake?" Jen asked Moody. The first suggestion was not beyond the realm of possibility, no matter what Potter's friends might think of it. She had personally proven how useful enslavement curses could be in turning one's enemies into loyal servants, and even if Voldemort did not know how to cast them, he had nonetheless had months upon months to torture Potter into submission the old fashioned way.

Moody scowled at the distance. "Intentional, yes, but I don't think it was on Potter's end. The last time we used information he obtained from Voldemort, we walked into a trap. He probably can feel it when Potter goes snooping around, and there is a branch of mental defensive magic that lets you redirect people who are trying to enter your mind. He could have pushed Potter away from any memories that showed the lodge. It would explain why the Dementors are all awake, too."

"So what's in the lodge that is so important?" asked Tracey, that same question obviously on everyone else's mind as well.

"That, Davis, is the thousand-galleon question. Let's find out."

Two main paths led to the lodge. The first involved going downstairs and back out into the streets, where even if the Dementors could not sense their emotions they would still be visible. The second, which was the obvious superior… involved a little more destruction of property.

A wave of Moody's wand turned the far wall into sawdust, and he directed Dora to levitate the floor of all things while he carved a large circle eight feet in diameter. His plan was revealed when Dora's spell lifted the cut section of floor up and shifted it onto an undamaged span of wood. "See that balcony there?" he asked, pointing to one on the opposite side of the street. "If the rest of us are levitating that circle enough that it and we on top of it are essentially weightless, one person should be able to summon us over. We just need to get that person there in the first place. Anyone willing to be levitated over?"

"I'll take care of it," Jen said with a put-upon sigh. Instead of waiting for Moody to cast any magic on her, however, she ran to the opening in the wall. At the last moment, she cast a spell on herself to nullify nearly all her weight and jumped, her empty hands behind her providing a nice banishing charm that threw her into the air at a slight upwards angle. It was not flight, not like she could do on her own without witnesses, but as Dora proved the previous spring the Aurors had paid close attention to what 'Queen' was capable of. Unaided flight might push Moody to start digging for connections between those two personas, but a jump was just different enough that it would not readily spring to mind.

She was still going upwards even after she was halfway across, and so she increased her weight and summoned herself to the balcony. That changed her trajectory enough that she could curl her legs under her and clear the top of the balcony before landing solidly onto the ground. A parlor trick at the end of the day, something possible with nothing more than plain mortal magic, but to people who were totally dependent on wands? She stood and gave the rest of the group a wave.

To those people, what she had just managed could only be described as superhuman.

Everyone else forced themselves to get nice and cozy next to each other on the platform, and Moody raised one hand before bringing it down sharply. A pull of both hands, one of them holding her blank wand, and the platform floated through the air to the balcony. Only once they were all the way over and she had fused the platform to the balcony did tap her wand on the wall of the balcony and transfigure it into water. "Right this way. Make sure you have not left any of your belongings on the platform and clear the way for the next group please."

"Black, do you ever shut up?" Weasley would have demanded if the bracelet were not cutting him off from his frustration.

"No. Not while I'm awake."

"I can vouch for that," Luna surprised everyone by saying. "She never runs out of sarcastic comments."

"Just keep moving," ordered Moody, disintegrating an entryway into the wall.

Another street was crossed the same way, and then they were at the lodge. Once their doorway was created, Jen and Dora slipped inside like shadows.

Though she would have loved to wrap herself in her invisibility, doing so would have cut off her own vision while her sonar was nearly useless. Also, the Dementors did not properly see, so invisibility would not fool them. Instead she could merely hide behind cover and trust in her magic. Peeking out from between the railing of the upstairs at the floor below, she was sharply reminded of the need for discretion even as part of her could do nothing more than stare in astonishment.

 _This_ was why Voldemort did not want them here.

Below them, dozens of tables were arranged in perfect rows, and on each and every table was a body. A body, or more accurately something like one. At their most basic, these replicas looked only vaguely like a human skeleton cast out of some dark metal; chest, shoulders, hips, arms, hands. No legs. No head even, just a sharp spike where a neck should be. As the bodies increased in presumed completeness, strips of flesh were draped piecemeal over the bare frame until it looked almost like an emaciated figure, but even then it was not complete. Not until a mummified and mutilated human head was stuck firmly over the spike to hold it in place.

Dementors were not beasts, beings, or even spirits. They were neither born nor summoned. They were _built_ , and this? This was their factory.

The sharp click of nails on floor came from an unseen corner, and a monstrosity of a Dementor slowly scurried into sight. Two rib cages stacked on top of each other and arms both where arms should be and where legs could be located on the lower, this new variety of soul-sucker moved around the tables on its lower four arms while the top two poked and prodded the unmoving bodies. "What is it waiting for?" Tracey asked once she was crouched next to Jen.

"I don't know, but if we stay long enough I'm afraid we'll find out."

Ten minutes or so passed while they waited, everyone positioned well out of the super-Dementor's sight. Yet another wave of depression and fear hit them when a normal Dementor finally entered the building. That the aura was not something the Dementors chose to project but was simply part of them was interesting, but not enough to distract her from what she could see. The massive construct lifted the cloak off the proper Dementor to reveal the same frame that all the bodies on the table had. While those top arms were holding the cloth, one of the middle arms reached up behind the Dementor's sternum and pulled out a patina-coated gold sphere. The Dementor sagged but did not fully fall, and the other middle hand placed a shiny new orb in the same place. The cloak went back on, and then the demon floated back out of sight, though no long so full of pep as it was when it first entered.

The super-Dementor moved over to one of the bodies and placed the used sphere into the chest cavity. The body started spasming and rose off the table; when the shaking stopped, it reoriented itself and waited patiently for its creator to drape yet another ragged cloak on top of it before it followed its gold-donor.

"Baron save us," Jen breathed. "They're like a beehive, and that thing must be their queen."

"And the whole thing with the gold?"

"This is all an assumption, but that could be where they put whatever power they get from feeding off souls. Once it's full, it can activate another Dementor, and the old one must have a backup battery that they run off of while they're recharging. That, or it's where they store the overflow of their meals specifically so they can power others of their kind. Either way, it looks like only the queen can make new Dementors."

"Again, just like bees." Jen nodded, knowing where Tracey was going with this. "So kill the queen…"

"And the hive can't reproduce. That won't stop the Dementors that are already active, but possibly they have finite lifespans and need continuous replacement. Or they could still be immortal and just really angry. No way to tell."

They needed to make sure that the queen would not call any drones to its aid, which meant killing it quickly. Flexing her fingers, smoke poured out into the air and formed into a tiger. "Take a message to Dora. Hit it with the same black hole–spike spell you used on Voldemort. Both chests, then the head for good measure. Get Moody to help." The tigress nodded and dashed away silently.

A dozen seconds later, two spike-like spells flew out from behind another section of balcony and slammed into the queen. The torsos crumpled into the immense gravity well created by the spell, and when the effect ended, the top of its head fell to one side while the disembodied arms toppled over to the other side.

Mission accomplished.

A high-pitched wail echoed across the town, the sound sending shivers down Jen's spine. That was not the scream of the dead or dying. That was pure, unfiltered rage. The windows of the lodge rattled as cloaked figures slammed into them without concern for any damage the would inflict upon themselves. A whipping, whistling sound came from behind them, and abandoning subtlety entirely she grabbed Tracey's arm and jumped over the railing to the floor below. They were just in time to watch a Dementor fly through the space where their bodies had once been.

She flung one of the in-progress Dementor bodies at its senior while the rest of the group dropped down to join them. The Gryffindors hung from the upper floor to minimize their falls, but the Aurors simply cast a set of spells to soften the floor while they were already on their way down. "This was a terrible plan!" Granger screamed.

"We couldn't leave the queen Dementor alive!" Jen shouted back. A twist of her hands had the Dementor flung to the ground and speared through with a few conjured rods. "They shouldn't have figured out we killed her so quickly!"

Moody spun his wand over his head and laid down a ring of white fire around them, the tables nearby melting from the sheer heat. "Doesn't really matter now. I sent the signal to the Hit Wizards Bones has standing by, so they'll know they're headed into a fight."

That would not matter much if they did not arrive in time. Jen flung a ball of cursed fire at a Dementor that flew over Moody's flames, which sent the monstrous thing away. She could not say with any kind of certainty that she had killed it, though, and that was the terrifying part of this fight. "If you've got a Patronus, now's the time to use it!" No sooner had she said it than a fox and a rhinoceros of all things run at the edges of the fire from where the Aurors stood, and Jen could not help but glance back and forth between the rhino and a totally unashamed Moody.

An otter and a formless shield joined the fray, and a gesture on her part had her flaming tiger running out to patrol the ring. "That's not a Patronus," Moody pointed out.

"No, it's not, but I wanted something with a little more bite."

"She also can't cast a Patronus in the first place," Dora said in a stage whisper to her former mentor.

Trust her cousin to mention that. Rolling her eyes, Jen agreed, "No, I can't. I'm a dark witch. Kind of goes with the territory."

"Hey! How long can you keep the Dementors away?!" demanded Finnigan.

He asked a good question, much as Jen wished to disagree. Longbottom's shield hovered over their heads, but it was beginning to flicker in the face of what looked to be the entire town's population of Dementors forced together inside the lodge. The full totems were faring better, but Dora's face showed the strain that was putting on her, and it was more likely than not that the others were suffering just as much. Her suspicion was confirmed when the otter faded to the point that it almost went out, and even though it regained its glow after a moment, it was not as bright as it had been when first cast.

Tossing more fireballs of dark magic at the Dementors, she moved closer to the Aurors. "How long will it take the Hit Wizards to make it over here?"

"Depends on how many Dementors there are between them and us. That's assuming they figure out a way to kill or disable the Dementors long enough for us to get out, and that we can hold all these off for that long anyway."

"Thanks, Moody. That makes me feel much better." And since Dora and Moody were casting their Patroni with their wands, they could not use that black hole spell to thin out the Dementors' ranks, not without dropping a full half of their protection. The chances of any of them getting out alive were slim to none. Why in the world had she agreed with Longbottom's stupid plan in the first place? "Granger, keep that Patronus going!"

The otter brightened again, but even now it looked nearly gone. Granger would do what she ordered, though, that much at least was not in question. The blood magic she had worked when the other girl broke into her workshop made it a guarantee.

Slowly, Jen's head tilted to the side as an utterly insane idea came to her. Dementors could only be damaged by some kind of powerful physical effect, but they did not have any means of doing that on their own. "What happens when two indestructible objects hit one other?"

Dora stared at her. "Huh?"

"Don't mind me. I'm just about to do something stupid."

She would need to move quickly. A pull with her right hand yanked a Dementor from the mob surrounding them towards her, and when it was close her left hand pinned it to the ground with thick metal screws. Her right hand was already moving again, this time pulling the flask of Lilin heartblood off her belt and splashing a measure into her other palm. This close to the Dementor, even her mental barrier could not hold back the mind-numbing aura it projected, but nonetheless she drew a character on its forehead. More blood on her finger, she scribbled a circle of symbols around its head, almost like a halo of sorts. She would love to double-check her work, but she did not have the time, and trying to use a regular enslavement curse on one of these things would almost certainly be less than useless.

She just needed to trust in her skills. Blood magic was good for two things: manipulating the body and manipulating the mind. The Dementors' composition prevented the former, but they clearly still had minds, which meant she might just be able to bind one or two to her will before she stretched herself too thin. With them enslaved in such a way, she could use them as shields or battering rams in conjunction with the available Patroni to forcibly open an escape route.

Raising her bloody hand, she slammed her palm onto the Dementor's forehead.

Biting winds nearly shoved her off her feet, and Jen hunched down and looked around the strange place where she now found herself. She stood alone on a tiny outcropping of rock barely wide enough for both her feet, and on all sides was the dark, churning sea without a spit of land anywhere in sight. This was not reality, so what was it?

" _Insolence."_

The word boomed around her, and with each syllable the winds strived to shove her off the stone. She huddled closer to the ground and grabbed at the cracks. Only bad things would come of falling in the water, that much was obvious. "Just die already!"

" _We were made to be forever. We will last forever. All that fight the Crowned will be consumed."_

"I have no intentions of dying here, and definitely not to some tool of Voldemort's!" She flung a Killing Curse ahead of her, but it faded into the distance without touching anything, for there was nothing for it to touch. "Come out here so I can kill you!"

" _We are already here. You came to us. You will be consumed."_

Not if she had anything to say about it. She glanced around again. This was not entirely like the fight she waged against Voldemort within Dora's mind, but it felt similar. The mind of this Dementor had to be somewhere, and the most obvious candidate was probably the right one. Letting electricity arc between her fingers, she flung her hands out and poured a storm's fury into the sea.

A wave crashed onto the rock and smashed into her, and the lightning died as she scrabbled to dig her fingers into the rock again. Pins and needles of the cold salt water buried themselves into her legs and waist. A current caught her, and her fingers bled as they fought in vain not to slide out of the shallow cracks. The crevice beneath her right hand ran out, and it too fell into the sea to be tugged on.

No! She could not die here, destroyed by the mind of this single machine! Hers was the stronger will!

" _We are not separate. We are singular. Your attempt to destroy us was doomed to fail."_

Her fingertips were all that held her to the rock. If she could fly up and out of the water before she was drowned… She pulled on her magic, but it refused to answer. She was too deep within the Dementors' mind, she realized with horror. She was losing the fight, and now even her power was not her own. Frantic, she reached for the one thing that could possibly dig into the rock and save her.

" _Feed us your soul."_

The current was too strong. Her fingers slipped. The sea swept over her head, and the current pulled her towards the dark, crushing depths.

Her right arm breached the water to jam the tip of her dagger into the rock.

Sweet air filled her lungs again as she pulled herself half out of the water. She was not going to die here!

" _No child can survive here,"_ the Dementors said, though where before there was certainty, now she could hear a faint shadow of confusion. No doubt they had never had anyone fight them, not like this.

"Maybe not," she said with a breathless laugh. Beneath her, ribbons of frost slowly inched their way through the cracks. "But I'm no child. I'm just a simple whore. And now you're going to die."

" _We can not die. We are forever."_

Was that so? She stood, the winds no longer touching her, and her scar burned deliciously in her wrist. "All that lives will die. Anything made by man's hand will rust away. That is the truth of Death!"

The waves reaching for her shattered into innumerable shards, and cracks sounded as the hungering sea was in turn devoured by ice. Winds of incense and smoke whirled around her and stirred the folds of her gauzy black gown. Raising her arms to her sides, she let a god's idle fury break the world.

" _We do… not… understand…"_

"You don't have to understand. You don't have to do anything."

Jen fell, her side hitting the ground next to the Dementor. Around her, she could hear heavy thumps as though large constructs of metal were raining from the sky. Which, she decided when a Dementor slammed into a table and broke in two, was basically what was happening.

"Jen," Dora said in a light voice, her fox returning to her side. "What did you just do?"

She pushed herself onto her hands and knees, her muscles quivering in the aftermath of Death's power racing through her. At least she was not bleeding from every orifice again. "I didn't know it ahead of time, but apparently the Dementors had an even closer social structure than bees do. They weren't even different entities. It was one mind controlling every body at once. I was trying to use blood magic to take control of a couple of Dementors and use them as shields, but instead…" She shrugged and waved one hand at the mechanical carnage around them. "I kind of gave it a lobotomy?"

"So just to be perfectly clear, they're all dead now, yes?" asked Morag.

"Well, _'alive'_ may or may not be the correct term for what they were, but yes. Whatever word they were, they're definitely not anymore."

Moody stomped over and pulled her up roughly. "Is Voldemort going to be able to turn them back on as soon as we leave, or do we need to destroy the bodies too?" he asked once she was back on her feet.

It was a valid question from his perspective, and she should answer. He didn't know what had truly transpired within the Dementors' mind.

All she managed to do was laugh hysterically at him.

* * *

" **Priestess form" is a typical power-up, right?**

**Yes, the collective noun for a group of house cats is a clowder. The more you know. I was tempted to describe Jen's "Animagus" form as a black queen, which** _**is** _ **the appropriate term for a fertile female cat, but I thought that might be a little too on the nose.**

**The idea of Dementors being essentially magical androids with a hive mind was something that came to me back in the beginning of** _**Black Princess Ascendant** _ **(and in turn influenced my ultimate script for** _**Deal with a Devil** _ **, though no one got to see what I had planned there), but I wasn't sure how to include it here without forcibly shoehorning it in until a couple of months ago.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	31. Truths Uncovered

**Doctor Winter:** She channeled his power on her own, though that is not to say that Death was unaware of it. This is something she has long been _able_ to do. She just never thought to try. She also knows it isn't something she should do frivolously.

 **Eidolon V:** The only "super-Dementor" was the queen.

 **erica. erc, Monika:** What happened is that Jen used blood magic to get into the Dementors' hive mind, then using the dagger and her connection to the Labyrinth channeled Death's power into the hive mind to kill the singular consciousness that controlled all the bodies.

* * *

**Chapter 31  
** **Truths Uncovered**

"Hey! Where's another round of butterbeer?!"

The celebrations taking place throughout the castle after the Ministry's official announcement that the Dementors were all dead were going… just about how everyone would have expected. The supposed adults were rapidly getting drunk on the grounds, and even in the common rooms liquor was flowing discreetly but no less freely. Everyone was having a grand old time.

Jen's face felt like it was soon to freeze into place with how rigid her fake smile was. Yes, the Dementors' destruction was a matter that deserved to be celebrated. That did not mean Voldemort had nothing left in his arsenal to throw at them. If anything, the loss of the Dementors would probably just make him even more eager to break the castle before they could do any more damage to his stranglehold over Britain. Everything he had done until now had been without putting the Dementors on the field, which meant that from a purely practical perspective, their attack had greatly limited the future risk his forces posed but done nothing to his present danger.

Not to mention that neither Bones, Longbottom, nor she had revealed the Dementors' ability to pass through wards unhindered, so the current excitement was quite honestly excessive for what the rest of Hogwarts knew. All they were thinking of was that Dementors were scary and thank goodness they were gone.

Refusing a large goblet of some drink or another that she could smell the alcohol coming off of, she beat a somewhat hasty escape from the Ravenclaw common room up to her dorm. She let out a small sigh of relief once she was by herself. They had no idea, really, did they? Voldemort would not let this slip by him. He might not know immediately that the Dementors were gone, but the next time he tried to summon them, he would find out. His rage would be terrible to behold, and he _would_ wreck bloody vengeance for it.

She should know. That was what she would do in his shoes.

She could not tell anyone that, of course. The higher-ups in the Ministry, those few who knew she was a dark witch, would think they understood it, but they would assume it was the dark magic in and of itself that made her capable of predicting his behavior. They would once again associate dark magic and megalomania, and in the process she would undo all the advances she had fought for. No, it was the fact that both of them were black mages, cold-blooded monsters who would slaughter practically anyone for the slightest erg of power, that granted her such insight, but trying to explain that would see her head parted from her shoulders or send her through the Veil once the Ministry building itself was back under Bones's control.

No, she would need to make preparations for the inevitable counterattack. Not that she could stop him and his army all by herself – that was folly of the highest order – but there had to be some way she could hinder him, preferably something he would not expect.

Just as she had this morning when she was preparing to head out to Meryton, she spread her darker belongings across her bed. This time, however, she added the ball of gold and the tattered cloak she had stolen from one of the Dementors before they left. A trophy, she had told the Aurors and Hit Wizards, but in reality they were things she would like to experiment with on her own time. And yes, they would make excellent conversation pieces, just as Clarent would.

A tilt of her head, and she turned away from the bed to pace the room. There was something there, though she could feel just the barest shape of that idea. She had stymied Voldemort a few times already, in ways he had not expected. Back in the graveyard, it was through self-transformation and the simple fact that he had underestimated her, something he had never done since. Then in Hogsmeade, she had laid a runic spell on him that tied together his soul for a solid year and even sent him outside the country as he looked for some means by which to undo her curse. Once he returned, he unleashed the horde of zombies he had created, which she did her part in killing with her new cursed fire demi-Patronus. Her attack on his castle when the Aurors rescued Slughorn had been with her grandfather's reanimated corpse. The Dementors were strictly speaking killed by Death's power, but she had used blood magic to make that possible.

Surprise, runic casting, spellcrafting, voodoo, and blood magic aided by the powers of a priestess. She shook her head. There was no pattern there. Her sixth year would yield nothing useful, not when her time had instead been spent fighting the Turk…

…who only attacked directly. The Stormrider's magic was straightforward offense with only some defensive capabilities. In some ways, fighting Voldemort in Hogsmeade and fighting the Turk had felt very similar.

The fingers tapping on her outer thigh stopped. "He's a _wizard_ ," she muttered to herself. Practically all she had seen Voldemort ever use was wizardry. Wand magic. He was reputed to be creative and deadly, but that was in _how_ he used his spells, not what the spells themselves were. He was confined within the limits of the magic that could be cast with a wand.

Thanks to the habits Elsie had learned and passed down because of the Haitian witch's lack of raw power, the rituals of voodoo, and her own experimentation, she was becoming a rather adept hand at proper _witchcraft_. Slower, yes; limited in its own ways, absolutely. But that was a direction Voldemort simply would not defend himself against because it was nothing he had any significant first-hand experience with.

So she needed to create something that would let her counter his own soul magic. It was theoretically possible without dipping into Death's powers. Clarent's altered existence proved that. It would even be easier and hopefully less costly than the reforging of the Kingmaker if for no other reason that she was not trying to destroy a Treasure, something created by a god. She just needed to undo a piece of black magic.

She stretched her arms and cracked her knuckles, then she summoned a sheet of parchment and a quill to the top of her desk. She already had a couple of ideas for what she could do. She just needed to jot down a few notes before the inspiration fled from her.

"Jen!"

"Huh?" Jen blinked and looked over to where Luna and Tracey were standing. Pushing the globe of light she honestly could not remember creating a little higher so it was no longer shining directly in her eyes, she frowned at the pair. "Did you come up here to drag me back to the party?"

"In a manner of speaking. We were worried when you just up and wandered off like this. This is a celebration of what you did, you know," Tracey said.

She rolled her eyes. "Because a few minutes of privacy is just too much to ask for."

"Few minutes? Try an hour and a half."

Jen watched her friends for a long moment, waiting to see if this was a joke or not. When neither laughed or so much as cracked a smile, she looked back at her notes. What were supposed to be notes, anyway; she must have gotten lost in her thoughts, and what she intended to be a couple of scribbled ideas was instead a series of crossed-out calculations and arrangements of runes. Another half hour or so to finish planning, and she would probably be ready to start making the blasted thing.

"Okay. Maybe I was up here a little longer than I intended to be, but I needed to put some ideas on paper."

The two girls exchanged looks. "Ideas for the war. That's what you mean, isn't it?" Luna's question was more a statement.

Tracey nodded. "Look, Jen, we get it. This war is stressing everybody out, but we're worried about you. You're disappearing more and more and staying gone for longer periods of time, and when we do see you your thoughts almost always turn back to the war. I know you're trying to do your part, and you mentioned making deals with Bones and all, but this is taking over your life. Not to mention, the longer this goes on, the more you're…"

"Frightening," Luna finished for Tracey. "You're colder and crueler when you start focusing on the war. It's terrifying to watch. There have been times you look at us that I don't think you actually see _us_. We're just tools for you to fight with."

That was more than a little exaggerated. "I have never looked at any of you like that, and you know it. I know I'm involved in the war, maybe even to the detriment of our relationships, but I have to be. There's just too much for me to do."

"You don't have to do it all singlehandedly, though."

"Well…" She grimaced. How much could she tell them about this? Or, considering all the revelations she had made about the Baron, could she actually tell the unvarnished truth this time? "Not singlehandedly, per se, but I have to be the one who kills Voldemort. Death himself commanded me to do so. Do you have any idea the kind of things you have to do for a god to personally want you dead? I can't refuse an order like that, not if I want to maintain his favor."

Again Tracey and Luna shared glances, though these were far less certain. They thought it was ego that was pushing her, didn't they? While it was true that the amount of political power that her victory over Voldemort would earn was impressive, her core motivation was avoiding the fate of having Death materialize next to her and utterly disintegrate her and torture her for eternity as had happened to Elsie. Of course, since she was not betraying him for another Power, his wrath probably would not burn so bright, but that brought concerns of its own.

Namely that Death would instead get _imaginative_ with her punishment.

"It has to be you? No loopholes, no what if someone else gets the lucky strike in?"

"It has to be me." Both from the Baron's order as well as, if the prophecy was to be believed, the decree of fate itself. She shrugged and stacked her parchments in better order. She would take them down to her workshop in the morning, finish them up, and then? Then it would be time to start creating. "So yes, I'm under a little pressure, and I don't have as much time for fun as I normally do. That's to be expected, I'm afraid. But everything will be better once Voldemort is rotting in the grave, and I intend for that to be sooner rather than later."

* * *

"Wait, wait," Pomona said, cutting off the explanations, "just _why_ do you need to expand into a special, secure section of the castle?"

The Unspeakable sitting next to Minister Bones did not sigh, but his body language told her everything she needed to know about how excited he was at having to repeat everything he had just said. His hooded head turned to scan the room, but she knew he would not find much support. The other heads of houses looked just as confused as she felt, no doubt the result of the vague details he kept throwing out that she just _knew_ he knew were leagues above their heads. Even Griselda, who was normally the staunchest defender of the Ministry of the Hogwarts staff present, looked apprehensive. "Very well," he said after another moment. "In its simplest form, the Department of Mysteries is asking for a section of the castle that we can safeguard against interruption because we have come up with a number of possibilities that might be able to assist the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and all volunteers with fighting off the forces of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Yes, yes, that all sounds wonderful," drawled Severus. "Almost too good to be true, you could say. Those promises never turn out the way they are supposed to. It also does not explain why you need further space beyond what areas of the castle the Ministry has already claimed."

His words were directed at the Minister even more than the Unspeakable, and it was telling that she did not reply. "The methods we have devised are mostly theoretical at this point in time," the nameless wizard said instead. "We therefore need space where we can perform experiments to determine whether they would be practical."

It was Minerva who spoke now, the other witch's own experience as deputy headmistress coming to the fore and cutting through the deflections. "And they can't be done where you are now for what reason?"

The Unspeakable turned to the Minister, but Bones maintained her silence. "For the same reason that we want it to be away from the students. The defenses we intend to use are both to prevent people without reason to be there from walking in and distracting us as well as to keep them away from any… unexpected complications."

This was finally too much for Griselda. "You want to perform dangerous experiments around school children?" she demanded of the Minister.

"I don't necessarily like the idea any more than you do," Bones said at last. This was, in fact, the first thing she had said since yielding the floor to the Unspeakable. "Nevertheless, any advantage we can get that lets us end the war now will save countless lives that would otherwise be lost. The Unspeakables will also do their best to be as safe as they possibly can be."

The last bit was clearly directed at the Unspeakable in question, who nodded. "Indeed, and if I may put your minds at ease, the risks of anything truly dangerous occurring are quite slim. We are very careful about what experiments we undertake, and we would never put anyone in danger intentionally. It is simply the nature of experimentation that we cannot predict everything, hence our desire to use some basic precautions."

"Is that all these rooms would be used for?" Severus asked. "Or would a couple of rooms be used to hold any 'undesirables'? I can't help but notice that one of my students has not gone to any of his classes for the last couple of days. You wouldn't happen to know what happened to Mr. Malfoy by chance, would you?"

Pomona stared at the head of Slytherin. She did not have Mr. Malfoy in her NEWT-level classes, so she had not noticed that the boy had been missing, but this was a major concern. How Severus could be so calm in the face of one of his charges having disappeared, she had not a clue!

Bones cleared her throat slightly, which instantly earned her everyone's undivided attention. "One of my Aurors discovered that he was actively working on behalf of You-Know-Who with the objective to sabotage the war efforts. He is in DMLE custody right now, which is where he will remain until the war is over and he can stand trial in front of whatever's left of the Wizengamot."

"Trial?!" demanded Minerva.

"He is a legal adult who aided an organization engaged in war to overthrow the legitimate government of this country. That is the definition of high treason."

Smoke poured into the room, distracting Minerva, Severus, and Bones from the argument that was instants away from breaking out. The smoke then surged in one direction like a living thing, collecting into a shape that was recognizably a grey and black tiger. It padded over to Minerva. "Professor McGonagall," it said in a woman's voice, just as they had seen Albus do on rare occasions with his Patronus, "there is an issue with a couple of your Gryffindors that you need to attend to." The tiger turned around and took a few steps before looking back. "Follow me."

With the meeting thoroughly interrupted at this point, it was not just Minerva who chased the tiger, but all seven of them. The trail laid out before them took them through the normal sections of the castle into stretches that had not been used in what must have been a couple of centuries at the least. No student had a good reason to be anywhere near here.

They turned a corner to find several dozen students from every house and year clustered together.

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" demanded Minerva.

The crowd slowly cleared and revealed the Gryffindors the tiger had meant. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Finnigan stood unmoving next to one another in a doorway. Bent backwards as far as their spines could possibly move and with their arms and legs held stiff at their sides, they looked to be in agony.

"Everyone, go back to your common rooms," Griselda ordered, her voice hard. No one argued, and in ones and twos the students departed. Soon it was just the five members of the staff, Bones, the Unspeakable…

…and one nosy Ravenclaw.

"Is there something you need right this second, Miss Black?" the headmistress said in a tight voice. Pomona had only heard that particularly voice a couple of times over the last two years, always when Griselda was on the edge of shouting. A student probably would not recognize the warning signs, and Pomona looked at Miss Black and pointed in the direction the rest of her schoolmates went in clear command.

Miss Black either did not see her or more likely ignored her. "Not from you. I'm just waiting for someone to get those two out of the way."

The smoke tiger wandered over and butted the girl's hand a couple of times until she reached down to scratch it on the head.

Filius sighed in resignation. "Miss Black, do you have something to contribute as to why they are in the state they are?" He might as well have come out and asked what she had done, and on the other side of the group Minerva quivered in anger.

"Their families never taught them that a locked door means they are supposed to stay out. That or they somehow forgot the lesson. Either way, they tried to open a door they weren't allowed to open. This is the result."

"You put a paralyzing ward on the door to an empty room?" Severus shook his head. " _Why_?"

She shrugged. "To answer your first question, obviously. To the second, because I didn't want people traipsing around inside. I have things in there I don't want messed with."

"Perhaps you should show us just what is so important that you locked and warded the door," Bones ordered in a very strange tone of voice. The expression on her face made no sense to Pomona, a mix of anger, fear, and resignation that she had never seen before. Griselda's face, on the other hand, was carefully blank, though fear was also present there peeking out from the elderly witch's eyes. Just what sort of private information were these two party to?

"Your wish is my command, Minister." That phrase, so innocent on the surface, held a hidden barb if the way Bones twitched was any indication. Miss Black walked up to the door and laid her hand on one section of the wood, over a collection of scratches Pomona previously had ignored but now saw could only be deliberate. A moment passed before the loud sound of the door unlocking could be heard. The door swung open, and Miss Black waved for them to join her inside.

' _Walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.'_

Despite Pomona's fit of paranoia, there was nothing overtly dangerous or disturbing within the room. Blackboards had been pushed up against several of the walls, formulas and runes scrawled on them without obvious rhyme or reason. A few cabinets stood in the spaces between the blackboards. The place of honor in the middle of the room was filled by two chairs positioned a few feet apart, and balanced upon them was a long straight branch from which several bundles of leaves hung and lightly smoldered. White sage, if she did not miss her guess, though the pale yellow wood she could not readily recognize.

A four-panel screen appeared on one side of the room, and Miss Black disappeared behind it. "I must admit to being curious, Miss Black," the Unspeakable said, his hand disappearing into the hood behind the haze that hid his face. "You set up palings upon the door such that the two boys who tried to force entry were paralyzed, yet you have no qualms of showing us what you endeavored to hide."

"If I hadn't shown up or opened the door, you would have forced it open on your own." A blouse was thrown on top one of the screen's panels. Was… was Miss Black really taking her clothes off? "Best case scenario, I would need to set new defenses. Worst case, I'd have to find a new room and completely restock my workshop. I'd rather prefer nothing happen to my things. I spent a lot of time working on this project, and I don't want to start over."

"And such an interesting project it is." He took a few steps closer to the branch. "Yew wood, I believe? And sage to purge any impurities from the wood."

Miss Black walked out from behind the screen, pulling her hair into a ponytail. Pomona's attention, the same as Minerva's and Griselda's, was drawn to the fact that this young woman was now walking around in nothing more than a pair of loose white trousers and a strip of cloth wound around her breasts. She was all but half-naked, and in front of three men! " _Very_ good, Mr. Unspeakable. Between that and salt water to get rid of any traces of foreign magic still lingering around, it becomes as magically neutral and receptive to enchantments as it can possibly be."

"I see. Did you do this just once, or are you repeating the process?"

"Three repetitions." Miss Black untied the strings holding the leaves to the wood and threw them into a metal bucket on the floor. "I could get away with just two, since in ritual arithmancy two signifies severance, but that could also interfere with imbuing it with new magic."

"While three signifies harmony," he said with a nod. "I must say, I would not expect someone of your age to be so practiced in traditional witchcraft."

She flashed him a lazy smile before she grabbed a bowl that was sitting on a table nearby. A sponge apparently was in the bowl, and she used it to wipe down the branch. "Thank you. You can't be so bad yourself. I haven't run into anyone else who would understand a thing about these projects of mine. Anyway, this is why I didn't want anyone coming inside. Making something like this is delicate, and all it takes is one person putting their hands where they aren't welcome to ruin a dozen hours' work, not to mention the materials themselves. I can't reuse any of this if something goes wrong. That just isn't how the magic works. I'd have to start all over from the very beginning. Harvesting, carving, purifying. It's tedious enough the first time around."

"Is that also why you have to be… dressed… like this?" Griselda asked, not quite hiding how much she wanted this question to be more of an admonishment.

Miss Black and the Unspeakable started to answer at the same time, and she waved for him to speak and instead bent down to continue her task. "As she stated, witchcraft is incredibly delicate. It does not take much to disrupt the process, which is one reason why it has fallen out of favor compared to wizardry. Any kind of charms on clothing can have the same effects as the touch of a wizard. In fact, from what I recall of the subject, some eight centuries ago when witchcraft was still enjoying its heyday, it was common for trained witches and warlocks to ply their crafts in the nude so as to prevent other substances that might have gotten on their clothes from being introduced into the process."

Thank Merlin Miss Black was not doing that!

Of course, the girl was doing something else instead. On the same table where the bowl of water had been sat another bowl, and she picked up a knife and cut a line in her palm so her blood could run and drip into that second bowl. "Blood magic, Miss Black?" sighed Bones.

"Just because it involves blood does not make it blood magic, Minister. The blood of a magical being is not an uncommon component in witchcraft." The Unspeakable nodded in agreement when Bones looked at him. Mixing the blood with whatever else was in the bowl, she took it over to the staff and used a paintbrush to apply what looked like bright red lacquer to the branch. Which, Pomona thought to herself, was obviously in the process of becoming a staff. Whether Miss Black was painting runes onto the wood or filling in carvings she had already made was not clear, but her diatribe earlier made the second option more likely. Each symbol pulsed brightly with red light, but the longer she painted them, the clearer it was that even after that first burst they still glowed off and on in a steady rhythm. "Blood, you see, provides a fantastic charge of magic. It makes it easier to set something up ahead of time and not worry about starting it in the middle of a bunch of chaos."

Severus crossed his arms with a bored scowl. "And just what are you setting up?"

"Something that may be of benefit should You-Know-Who launch another assault on the castle. I don't want to go into any more detail because I don't know if it will ever happen, but this is one of those things that falls under the axiom _'better safe than sorry'_." Miss Black painted more lacquer on before turning back to them. "That's really all there is to see. If you really want to stick around and watch, feel free, but otherwise you can go back to whatever else you were doing. This isn't exactly a spectator sport."

* * *

"That's enough. If you have yet to brew your potion to the barest acceptable standards by now, you have little hope of doing so any time in the future. Bring your samples here and leave."

Someone must be having a bad day, Jen though as she ladled up her Voynich Dyslexia Concoction. It was just the slightest bit off-color, and if asked she was going to blame the fumes for confusing her ability to read the directions and slip up on the last stages. That was sadly not an impossibility with this incredibly finicky potion.

"Miss Black," Snape said without looking up, "if you would stay behind for a moment? I need to talk to you about the second-years you are teaching."

The second-years? That was strange. Yes, traditionally there was hostility between the Gryffindors and Slytherins in Potions, but the kids she was responsible for teaching every Friday had never caused her much of a problem. Possibly it was because they were part of a new breed of Gryffindors, one that did not feel like they ruled the roost and instead saw that the rest of the school by and large distrusted the house that created Dumbledore, mind criminal extraordinaire, and the useless Boy-Who-Lived Danny Potter. More likely it was because unlike Snape, who was not only a Slytherin but the head of that house, she was a Ravenclaw and therefore considered a neutral party who would not favor either group.

"Sure thing." It was not as though she had any more classes for the day, so while the rest of the seventh-year class made their way to the Great Hall and dinner, she sat on a bench and let her legs swing back and forth.

The door slammed shut with a gesture from Snape, and she shrugged. "So what have the little monsters done now?"

"Nothing, actually. This was simply the easiest excuse for why you would stay here for a few minutes." He looked at her, but his eyes slid off a little too quickly, and he tugged the ends of his sleeves uncomfortably. "I… need to ask a favor of you."

He was nervous. Snape. Was _nervous_. Why?! He had not acted like this even when he asked for her to try removing his Dark Mark, something he knew from the start would require her to cast strange forms of dark magic on him! What could this favor possibly entail that he was acting like this? "I'm listening."

"Danny Potter was branded with runes that no one can translate or even recognize. I would like you to try your hand at figuring them out."

Jen blinked twice at him. "Professor Snape? I like you, but I'm going to need a bit more detail than that. Starting with why the hell _you_ would ask _me_ to help the _Potters_. You're the only person here who hates them more than I do!"

She had absolutely no clue what Snape was smoking, but clearly it was the good stuff.

An almost-snort that could only be a hastily suppressed guffaw managed to escape him, and when he cleared his throat to continue he still could not stop his lips from twitching. "True as that may be, it does not change the fact that the Dark Lord branded him with runes no one can determine the purpose of or what kind of risk they pose."

"Still not hearing a good reason."

His smile faded, and now he was looking away from her again. "Do you remember what I told you last year? About how I left the Death Eaters when the Dark Lord tried to kill my best friend?" She nodded. "That was Lily I was talking about."

"Your best friend is the wife of the man you hate most in all of existence?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Her poor choice when it comes to romance notwithstanding, yes, Lily was… is my best friend. That is why I would like you to examine the runes yourself. She would be devastated if anything else were to happen to the whelp."

Jen sighed. "Snape, we need to find you a girl. Possibly several. A few nights' thorough shagging would net you some more friends, and probably improve your general disposition in the process." She ran her hands through her hair. "I can't believe I'm doing this. Fine! Fine. I'll take a look at him sooner or later."

"How about tonight?" Slowly, so slowly, she raised her head to glare at him. "I mentioned I knew an unnamed individual who might be able to help with this matter. We can meet them here in the castle." At the murderous expression on her face, he raised a placating hand. "The greater of the bastards will not be present. She gave her word on that."

A loud sigh whistled through her nostrils. "This favor, which you _will_ repay me for? It's going to be a big one by the time we're done, I guarantee it. I might just demand your firstborn child at this rate."

He stared at her. "I don't have any children, thank Merlin, and that is not a situation I expect ever to change."

"Snape? Severus? You are asking me to do a favor on behalf of my piece of shite half-brother and the wife of a man I would gladly murder in the most horrific way possible in front of all his friends and family. I am not above hiring the ugliest hag I can find to force herself upon you and then give birth to your firstborn." If his expression was any indication, she was entering territory he did not have a ready response for – though in all honesty, who would? – and so instead of continuing to threaten him she waved her hand wearily for him to lead her to wherever this debacle was supposed to take place. "Did you at least warn them the 'unnamed individual' you had in mind was a dark witch?"

"I left that part vague. I did not want to assume how you would wish to frame things."

Great. Just great. It looked she would have to put up with more efforts at 'rehabilitation' and 'reuniting with her real family' then. Snape had better be glad she liked him as much as she did.

He was notably silent during the short trip back towards the Great Hall, though it was when they were close enough that she was tempted to make a break for freedom that he opened one of the multiple never-used doors set in that stretch of the building. He ushered her inside before closing the door again and sealing it with a dizzying array of spells.

"Severus? Jenn-ifer?" Lily said, glancing back and forth between them. Next to her, Danny did the same thing with half as many eyes. "Did you get in touch with whomever you wanted to talk to?"

"You're in luck, Lily," she replied, her face a flat mask. "He did. You're looking at her."

"No. No way," protested Danny, waving his hand and his stump as though he could ward her off.

Lily did not appear any more enthusiastic about this than Jen felt. "He… asked you to examine Danny? From the way he was talking, I expected someone…"

Older? More experienced? Not from Lily's womb and bearing a grudge against her and her whole family?

Before Lily could stick her foot in her mouth, Snape cleared his throat. "I understand your surprise, but Miss Black is without a doubt the closest thing to an expert on the use of runes in dark magic that you could find in this castle. I can promise you that."

That was a nice vote of confidence. Jen mentally adjusted the amount of debt he had to pay off just a touch lower. "I'm probably the closest thing to an expert there is on the subject other than Voldemort himself you'll find in the entire country, actually. It isn't exactly a popular subject. I'm certainly the only dark witch the Ministry has licensed to ply her craft." Both Potters stared at her when they heard that admission, and she felt Snape cut his eyes to her in confusion that soon became wariness. No doubt he was worried she intended for this meeting to fall apart before it had even started. "So unless you want me to send a letter to the Dark Lord or call in some people I know on the Continent, which would probably take weeks if I could even convince them, I'm the only choice you have."

Mother and son looked back at each other, and with obvious reluctance Danny turned back to her. "You're sure you can translate these runes?" he finally asked.

"Of course I'm not sure. I haven't even seen them. I'm not fool enough to make you any promises on that score. You're just going to have to trust me." And wasn't that a bitter pill for the Potters to swallow?

Lily nodded with a fortifying sigh. "Show her."

Standing from the bench where they were sitting, Danny walked over with the air of someone approaching the gallows and pulled the sleeve over the stump of his right arm halfway up to his shoulder. The characters that were revealed were odd in appearance, lines that would not be atypical for cuneiform or sealing script but with circles at several of the ends as though to highlight that this was not a direct derivative of either. The texture of the scars was also unusual, and she had to peer at them from a couple of different angles before she could figure out why that was. "These weren't carved, were they? They're brands."

Danny took a hasty step backwards, and the hand holding his sleeve shook faintly as though he were considering whether to hide markings. It was answer enough. "This isn't all there is, either. I can see the beginnings of other runes higher up." Rubbing her forehead, she sighed. "Okay. Take off your shirt. Let's see them."

"No. Look, you can see the runes right here. Just tell us what they are, and we can figure the rest out on our own—"

An upward flick of her prop wand banished his shirt back to the bench where he had sat. He tried to wrap his arms around him and cover the runes that littered the rest of his body, but a downward flick froze him in place. "Good grief, Potter," she muttered, "the only thing you have that I haven't seen before are the very runes you want me to translate. Quit being such a baby."

"You're that used to seeing boys running around shirtless?" Lily echoed with an uncertain voice. Of course, because even though she grew up in the Muggle world, she had been in the Wizarding World for almost thirty years or so at this point and adopted their prudish mores. Her head would probably explode if she had any idea just what Jen got up to in her free time, but no matter how amusing that would be, it would distract them from the reason they were all here together and delay the moment when she could leave.

"I'm a prefect," she said instead. "The prefects' bath is communal."

That seemed to mollify the woman, though everything got awkward again when she started moving Danny's limbs as though he were a life-size doll. The rest of the runes were similar in design to those she had already seen, and she could swear she saw a number of duplicates already. Not individual logograms as she would expect from Futhark or hieroglyphs, then, but symbol sets that together formed compound words of sorts. That was a distinctly East Asian flair, something she was familiar with from working with sealing script in class this year.

Well, she supposed it was also seen with Mesoamerican languages from what she had read, but these were not the nice blocky characters ubiquitous in that region, so Asian it was.

"What are you?" she asked herself as she looked them over again.

"You can't read them," Lily said with no little resignation. No grief, though. It was almost as though this was the outcome she expected.

And that? That was infuriating. The woman was told by someone she supposedly trusted that Jen was the only person available who could possibly uncover the origin of these runes, and she assumed from the start that Jen was going to fail because… why? Because no child of hers would have the skill and knowledge to decipher them?

It was a good thing Jen _was_ no child of Lily's, but now it was a matter of principle.

"Good luck finding anyone anywhere in Europe who can read this fluently. This is an Asiatic script, and if I had to put money on it, I would say it's a rare one. That being said," she added, her voice softening as she calmed down, "the more I look at it, the more I think I recognize it. I just don't remember from where." There was a solution to that, though. "Kreacher!"

It took a few moments for the house elf to work his way through the wards, but eventually he appeared. Whatever greeting was on the tip of his tongue vanished when he took in her present company. "Mistress Jen calls Kreacher?" he asked, giving her a deep bow.

"Bring me a couple of books from the library. _Rune Scripts of the Far East_ , _Words of Power_ volume… I can't remember if it's three or four that covers Asia. Just grab both." A frown worked its way over her face. If this rune language was really as rare as she had implied it was, even the encyclopedic compendium that was _Words of Power_ might not cover it. "And _Letters in Isolation_ just in case."

Kreacher nodded and vanished. While he was off gathering her reference texts, she took another look at Danny. Specifically the waistline of his trousers, from which she could see more characters peeking out from underneath. "He branded your entire body, didn't he?" she asked with a sigh. He did not answer, not that she expected him to considering he was still frozen in place, but her words were more for her than for him. "Professor, you might want to look away. Lily… eh. You gave birth to him, so maybe it will be less awkward. By the Baron, I hate my life sometimes."

A wave of her wand stripped off the rest of his clothing to Snape's audible disgust. Yes, more runes. Fantastic.

Kreacher returned to the sight of her copying several of the runes onto a piece of conjured slate. She grabbed the book at the top of the stack and gave him a look when she saw it was the third volume of _Words of Power_ , which was indeed the one that was focused on Asian rune scripts. Cheeky house elf.

"Huh," she said when she finally skimmed her way to the last fifth of the thick book. "Well. I would not have expected that."

"You found it?" asked Snape, looking up from the stack of essays he was grading that he had asked one of the Hogwarts elves to bring him.

"For what good it did. These are Mongolian sun runes. There isn't much on them in here. Apparently it wasn't in use very long, just for a few centuries before it all but vanished with the influx of sealing script from China. It didn't help that it was not broad in application like sealing script or Futhark. The main places it was used was on the Mongols' horses and cattle…" She trailed off as something about that niggled something else in the back of her brain. "Cattle."

"A term used to describe cows, Miss Black," drawled Snape.

She shook her head. "Not just cows. It also describes slaves. I need another book." Kreacher perked up and pushed himself off the floor. "In the personal journals section. No title, about so big"—she indicated it with her hands—"somebody's crest on the front… Rosier! The Rosier crest and bound in red leather. It's part of a set, just grab all of them."

Her elf popped away again, and Lily cleared her throat. "Why do you have the Rosiers' books?"

"They are travel journals written by one of the Rosiers, a witch who was an amateur adventurer. She had an interest in runes and enchantments that could be used to control captives and slaves, with the obvious application of putting them on Muggles and Muggleborns." Kreacher returned and set five small books on the table next to the others. "She never married, so all her belongings she willed to a niece of hers she was close to who had married into our family."

"…I suppose that explains why Dumbledore couldn't find anything about them."

Dumbledore's opinions were nothing she wanted to discuss even on a good day, so Jen ignored that comment and flipped through the unlabeled journals until she found a section on sun runes. As she half-remembered, Rosier had gone into a decent amount of detail about the runes she had encountered on the steppes of Mongolia, and Jen walked around Danny and compared the groups of runic 'words' to what was recorded in the journal.

"Interesting," she finally announced when she walked back to the table where the other books were. Conjuring a chair for herself, she dropped into it and shined a light on different portions of Danny's body as she explained her findings. "From what I can tell, there are three different enchantments Voldemort decided to put onto your boy, Lily. The first and most creative is the runes he has all below his waist. Parsing the exact meaning of the rune groups is difficult, so I can't say this is the case with 100 percent confidence, but if I'm reading them right Voldemort actually tied his wards into Danny's magic."

Even through the paralyzing jinx, Danny twitched in response to that bombshell.

"He what?" demanded Lily, her face full of fear. "What do you mean, he tied wards into Danny's magic?"

"Exactly what I said. Most likely, some of his magic is being drained to help power the wards and weaken him, but the arrangement isn't totally clear. Maybe it keys him into the wards. Maybe it's linked in such a way that if the wards are destroyed, he loses his magic. I can't give you a definitive answer."

"But you'll keep looking and figure out exactly what it means?"

"Sure," she lied. "The second one, the one on his back and his left arm, describes a lot about senses, but it's peppered with rune phrases of sorts that seem to describe dreams and messages. Now this one I think I understand. Moody told me how you think Voldemort torturing him was why they have a mental connection, but I don't think that is actually the case. _This_ is why he gets those visions."

"What?" Snape and Lily glanced at each other in confusion before turning back to her. "Why would the Dark Lord want to connect his mind to Potter's?"

"Because he didn't actually connect their minds, not the way you're thinking. All those visions the Order _cleverly_ plucked out of his head without him knowing it? He sent them! Everything you think you learned about the Death Eaters' movements, he wanted you to know." It explained why Longbottom and Granger had been so laughably wrong about the state of Meryton; Voldemort intended to lure them into the town so the Dementors could eat their souls, which would only further lower morale. It was a beautiful plot.

Moving the light to his front, she shrugged. "It's this part that I'm having the most trouble figuring out. It also concerns senses, but there are sections that I'm translating as rivers and winds in caves and other things that don't relate to the senses at all. I'm missing something, but I have no idea where that last piece is supposed to be."

"Maybe he didn't finish whatever it was he wanted to do?" Lily asked, but a deaf man could have figured out that she did not believe what she was saying.

Jen just shook her head. "No, he finished it. With the runes on your son's back, it's obvious that he _wanted_ Danny to be 'rescued'. I don't know how he planned to get the information out, but he was going to at some point or another. All the Aurors managed was to find him on their own. It's the exact same thing he wanted them to do, just maybe not at the perfect time."

Hopping back to her feet, she paced in front of Danny and tried to wrap her head around what she was looking at. Sun runes were far more vague and flowery than any runes she had ever otherwise come across, something she had not appreciated when skimming Rosier's journals a couple of years ago, and that made translation difficult without knowing what was already intended. It was two of the phrases, silence-river-movement-face-endless and wind-scream-cave-individual, that were really sticking out to her.

She looked up at Danny's face, her gaze finding his own single eye. His impotent fury burned hot and bright in that eye, and he should be glad he could not talk because no doubt what he would say would be the kind of thing that would tempt her to finish the job Voldemort started and rip out his other eye. See how he liked learning what it was like to be blind. She still vaguely remembered what those first few months after having her sight stolen as a child was like, back before she had her sonar to show her the world. It had been terrifying.

Which…

Jen's head slowly tilted almost of its own accord. If Voldemort wanted to torture Danny, why would he not destroy both eyes? Being unable to tell where anyone or anything was and being constantly surprised by everything around him would wear on Danny's psyche faster, and the sight of two empty sockets would be more viscerally disturbing than just the one. Voldemort was anything but stupid, so clearly there was a reason.

She reached out and flipped up the leather eyepatch, and a bitter smile graced her lips when she felt the ice-cold spark of magic hiding in the very back of that hole.

"Clever bastard, aren't you?" she asked as she stared fully into Danny's eye. A flick of her fingers slapped the patch back into place and simultaneously undid the jinx she had laid on him. He rocked back and nearly fell on his rump.

Lily had jumped to her feet the moment Danny started moving again, and she helped him up before giving Jen a scolding glare. "What was that about?"

"Do you want to know who the spy within the Order is?" Jen waved one hand towards Danny. "Here you go."

Both Potters bristled, and Danny shouted, "I'm no spy!"

"Not knowingly, perhaps, but that doesn't change the facts. You see, I figured out what that third rune set is for. It links your vision to his. He sees everything you see." Helped along by a bit of black magic, and she had a few theories about just what that was doing. Voldemort was a soul mage, which meant he could emulate the magics granted by other Dark Powers. For all that he normally copied necromancy, she suspected that this time he had instead turned to the same connections and sympathetic magic Priest had been given by Sutekh. Danny's missing eye was likely the focus object, which explained why he had to leave the other eye intact.

"That's not possible," denied Lily with a desperate shake of her head.

It was very possible, but doubtless the Potters did not want to hear that right now. Too bad for them Jen had never cared what a Potter wanted. "Whether you believe me or not is your decision. I've given you my expert opinion. Kreacher, take all the books back to the house." She would never forgive herself if these books found their way into Dumbledore's grubby hands. He would without question burn them for all the terrifying improper knowledge they contained.

She then looked over the Potters at Snape and gave him a single solid nod. He begged for her help translating the runes; she translated them. Her task was complete.

If he wanted to deal with this nonsense any further, that was on him. She wanted no part of it.

* * *

**Several of you figured out that Voldemort was sending Danny fake visions. Which is good, I guess; it means you're paying attention. Now I just need to find other surprises to lob your way.**

**A plot kit – because it is nowhere near grown up enough to be a plot bunny – has been distracting me for a little while now regarding a pure witchcraft HP story, where wands and wizardry just** _**aren't a thing** _ **. It's an interesting bit of world-building, but I don't know there's enough there to make for an interesting book that isn't just "here's how Harry would deal with canon challenges without a wand".**

**And I know no one else cares since it will probably never see the light of day, but I figured I'd mention it just in case it inspired anyone else.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	32. The Ministry of Magic

**TinaMaki:** Jen just in general doesn't liked to be underestimated or overlooked unless it would further one of her goals. Prior to this year, she didn't want people to know how deep she was in the Dark Art, but now that she has the reluctant blessing of the Ministry, she's free to flaunt her talents. _Also_ , she does kind of want to show off to the Potters at every opportunity. No matter how much she tells herself and other people that she doesn't care about their opinions, she can't pass up a chance to rub their faces in the fact that they threw her away when she has more power and skill than Danny. Danny is the only Potter who is actually insignificant to her other than being an annoyance, which is part of the reason she was treating him as nothing more than something that belongs to Lily.

Now, she doesn't want the Potters' _approval_ ; let's make that very clear. She just wants to hurt them like they hurt her.

**Happy Halloween, everybody. This chapter wasn't** _**supposed** _ **to take this long, but trying to write was like pulling teeth, so I took a week off to be a pure consumer of entertainment rather than a producer. That seemed to work well enough to get the juices flowing again.**

* * *

**Chapter 32  
** **The Ministry of Magic**

Mad-Eye was no stranger to the twists and turns of Hogwarts. He had come to know them first when he had been a student, exploring the castle's hidden places the same way that many other Slytherins of the time had done, and then again when he had been employed as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher back in 1994. This part of the castle, however, was unfamiliar to him, and while he could not say definitively that it was because he had never been here rather than that it had no distinguishing features, the fact that Amelia was guiding him down here raised more than a couple of questions.

The first, namely, was "What's down here that you're so impatient for me to see?"

"A couple of weeks ago, the Unspeakables asked for a section of the castle where they could run some experiments. They said it was for the war, which was the only reason I agreed with it in the first place, but they sent a message this morning that whatever they were working on is finished and ready for a demonstration."

And she wanted him to watch her back. Not a bad idea; even though the Department of Mystery was supposed to be loyal to the Minister and the Ministry, the Unspeakables were so often doing their own strange things in their basement level that there were no ties between them and anyone else in the Ministry. If they decided to revolt, no one would know until it was too late to stop them.

That was probably not the reason she had come up with, though. More likely she was falling back on her own training as an Auror, which dictated that whenever possible, Aurors were to operate in pairs so they could not be taken down by a surprise attack from behind. She might also want him to take a look with her because she knew that they had very different ways of looking and the world, so he would see something she missed and vice versa.

He was curious about just why Marchbanks, whom he knew only by reputation, would let the Department of Mysteries run crazy experiments in the castle, but that was a matter for another time.

The door leading to the Unspeakables' laboratory had no special markings that could be seen, but its presence was obvious by the grey-robed figures standing outside to greet them. He swiveled his replacement eye to get a quick look inside the room, but the walls had been turned opaque in a similar manner to whatever charm they put on their hoods to hide their faces from both of his eyes. Even though he could not see their expressions, he could still imagine a pair of mocking smiles.

It would not be the first time he ran into Unspeakables who took pleasure out of being the smartest wizard in the room.

"Minister. Auror," one of the Unspeakables said with a faint nod as he opened the door.

When Amelia and Mad-Eye walked into the room, it was to find the lead Unspeakable sitting in a chair facing them, eight crystal boxes stuck on the floor and ceiling in a rough cube around him and the two chairs sitting in front of him. "I'm pleased you could make it," Croaker said with a wave. "Please, step closer. Come see the fruits of our research."

"You're talking about these box things, aren't you?" he asked, jabbing the end of his staff at the nearest one. "I hope they do more than look pretty."

The likelihood of them being as innocent as they appeared was an incredibly small one, that much he knew for sure. He had read the report of the candle the Unspeakables had crafted to assist in the raid on Voldemort's castle, so he knew the kinds of things they could do when they started showing off. If he was being honest with himself, the fact that they could make magic do seemingly whatever they wanted was actually rather unnerving.

"Oh, they do so much more than that. I could tell you, but I don't know if you would believe me. Instead I would like to do a little demonstration." Croaker waved them to come closer, into the space between the boxes. "The results will speak for themselves, but I need to warn you. Their effect can be a little disturbing at first."

Disturbing, huh? Mad-Eye held up his hand and motioned for Amelia to stay where she was, safely outside these whatever-they-weres. He did not trust this Department, and if he led a friend and the Minister of Magic into a trap he would never be allowed to live it down. He alone stomped over to the chairs and crossed his arms, all but daring the Unspeakables to impress him. Croaker did not lose his smile, which was beginning to look a little manic, and instead pulled a golden artifact that looked quite a bit similar to Albus's Deluminator out of a pocket on the inside of his robes. "Ready?" the head Unspeakable asked, and without waiting for a response he flicked a switch on the device.

Mad-Eye stumbled and grabbed onto the chair on his right side, dropping his staff in the process. This chair was the only one he could see. He whipped his head around, but no matter what he did his magical eye did not regain its sight. Pulling his wand out of his pocket, he tried to cast a spell only for nothing to happen. No spark, no fizzle. Absolutely nothing.

"There are a couple of runes in various languages that nullify magic around them," Croaker said in a nonchalant lecturing tone. He tossed the device out of the space framed by the boxes to another Unspeakable. A second click, and Mad-Eye's sight returned. "We studied how exactly they did that and through several _very_ small-scale tests were able to create this system that does the same thing but only within an area that is marked out in advance."

"You asked for this space because you said it would help win the war," Amelia reminded him in a stern voice. "I fail to see how making magic impossible to cast would help us. We would have no choice but to resort to Muggle fighting."

Finally Croaker stood and vanished the chairs. "This is not meant to control a battlefield, Minister. That would be a waste of its potential. The boxes are fragile and not designed to withstand curses. We did not design it to do such a thing. We designed it to take back the Ministry building.

"The entire Ministry building is heavily enchanted. It relies on spells to keep running." Croaker tapped the side of his nose with a smirk. "That includes every possible route in. The lift from the street. The Floos. Even Apparation and portkeys require magic at the destination. If these crystals were placed at strategic points within the Ministry and then activated, no one could possibly enter until we ended the effect."

"And on the downside, whoever went on this mission would be stuck there too," Mad-Eye pointed out.

"Not necessarily. You probably do not remember it, Minister, considering you were unconscious at the time, but we have our own way in and out. A team of Aurors could use our entrance to get in and out so long as the portal is not inside the neutralized area."

"I find it interesting you specify a team of Aurors and not a team of Unspeakables."

Croaker just held up his hands helplessly at Amelia's comment. "No matter what time of the day or night is chosen to set the crystals up, there is still a chance of combat, and that is not exactly our strong suit. If this is to work, it needs to be done by the best fighters you can field because of the risk that they will find themselves surrounded by Death Eaters. That is why we spent so much time working on the process itself. Creating the crystals was difficult, but they are as easy to use as we could possibly make them. Set them down on the ground or stick them onto the ceiling, toggle the activator, and the job is done."

Amelia glanced over at Mad-Eye, and he could only shrug a shoulder. he did not have anything to add to that, not least because he agreed with Croaker's assessment. He would not throw the Unspeakables into a fight if he wanted them to come back from it, either.

"Then I suppose we better find some volunteers, hadn't we?"

* * *

Dora watched unflinchingly as Mad-Eye paced in front of them. The sturdiness of her stance was not exactly a lack of nervousness – even after working under him for a year, the sight of the almost comically paranoid Mad-Eye being replaced by totally serious Senior Auror Moody was still disturbing – but more an effect of knowing that whenever he got like this, it was time to shut up and listen. He had not survived fifty years or something like that of hunting down the darkest of Dark wizards by luck.

"So here's the mission," he said, finally breaking the silence. "The Unspeakables have come up with something that will keep anyone from entering the Ministry building by any method except for their own personal back door in and out of the Department of Mysteries. The only problem is that someone needs to set the thing up to work, and by someone the Minister means us.

"The plan itself is pretty simple. The four of you will each take two of these"—he held up a glassy white cube—"and set them up. Two in the far end of the Atrium, two in the near end, and then two on each end of the bottom floor. We're making a giant box. While you're doing that, I'll go to the Minister's office and the DMLE and take whatever documents I can find. Once we're all out, I'll turn them on, and if the Unspeakables did their job right no one will be able to get back in until we let them."

He stopped his pacing and looked at each of them individually. "Now, even though it's the middle of the night, there is no guarantee that we won't run into a guard or somebody working late. Anyone you run into, treat as an enemy and stun. We'll figure out the rest of it later."

Dora shared a look with Gabriella Savage. She hoped they would not actually meet anyone still running around in the Ministry at midnight, but Mad-Eye was right that it was a definite possibility. They had all pulled all-nighters before, and even when no sane person should be awake let alone working, she had gone down to the canteen for another cup of tea only to run into people from different departments who were also stuck working late.

Unfortunately, with the Ministry under control of the Death Eaters, they could not afford offering anyone the benefit of the doubt. From the way Mad-Eye was selling this, they had one shot to get this right, otherwise the whole plan would come tumbling down on their heads.

Mad-Eye passed out a pair of the cubes to each of them, and it only took them the walk down the hall to the room where a faceless Unspeakable was waiting to plan out their targets. Proudfoot and Gabriella were the better fighters among the four of them, so they would head up to the Atrium and set up the blockers there while she and Oscar Coolidge worked on the bottom level. The Unspeakable silently held out a long stick, and as soon as they were all touching it the portkey whisked them away and dropped them into a dirty alleyway.

"Follow me," the unnamed wizard said after he waved his wand over himself and then the rest of them. They followed him into the kitchen of the same restaurant Dora had seen the last time she spent any significant time with the Department of Mysteries, namely when she had carried Madam Bones out of the building when Voldemort and the rest of his followers broke in and took control in the first place. Were they going to take that strange doorway back in?

The Unspeakable pulled a large keyring out of his robes and unlocked an already accessible storage closet. When he opened the door again, it was to reveal a room with several beds and chests. The answer to her question was yes, then. Another couple of keys, one to lock the door again and a third to unlock it, and the six of them stepped back into the Ministry for the first time in eight months. This room had once been an immense library, she remembered, but the Fiendfyre the Unspeakables had released to prevent their research from falling into the wrong hands had worked like a charm. There was nothing left in this room, not even a speck of ash.

"I will stay here and wait for you," the Unspeakable said, positioning himself as close to the doorway as physically possible, "but I'm not much of a fighter. If Death Eaters show up, I have to lock the door again and retreat. Director's orders."

That was inconvenient, and her opinion was reflected on the faces of her colleagues. "Fine," Mad-Eye finally said. "Just as long as you stay put unless that happens. You had better not chicken out ahead of time." Tapping his walking stick on the floor, he stomped away towards the lifts. Proudfoot and Gabriella quickly followed him.

"I'll take the far end of this floor, and you take the near end?" Dora asked Coolidge. Not that she really doubted he would accept the offer, but she did not want to spend all her time after her part of the task was done waiting around with the Unspeakable. Going to the other end of the floor would at least give her an opportunity to find out what kind of horrors the Death Eaters had decided were appropriate to showcase in the seat of their new and improved government.

Finding her way out of the Department of Mysteries was not the easiest task in the world, though it was made a little easier when she opened all the doors and conjured bricks to make sure the doors could not close again and send the room spinning the way it did when she entered the room with all the doors. Once she did, though, she had to admit that this level at least had not had many changes made to it. Perhaps because they did not need to do anything to make it drab and dreary. How Jen could possibly want to work down here she had not a clue, but that was just how her cousin was. It was definitely a better career goal than trying to take over the country, which was the other major job for people with an unhealthy bent towards the Dark Arts.

The boxes did not take any time to set up considering they simply had to be placed on the ground, so on her way back to the exit she made the slightest detour to the only other room on this floor. Courtroom Ten, which as the only surviving courtroom in the Ministry proper did not really need a number. A small push opened the door, and she peeked in only to stick her head through the doorway again. Normally the room had a single chair, one with chains attached to it to tie down aggressive defendants, but when necessary there were extra chairs that could be brought in. She had never seen a dozen chairs set up in a line as there were now, though. Why in the world would anyone need this many?

She walked down the steps but stopped in her tracks when the light from her wand fell upon stains on the stone floor. One in front of every chair, and while it was entirely possible they could be from any number of fluids, she had a dreadful suspicion that it was blood. People were being tried and almost certainly executed here. But where were they coming from…?

Considering the number of chairs, they would have to be 'tried' in large batches, which suggested a simple and terrible answer. The DMLE's holding cells here in the Ministry itself.

" _Level three,"_ the too-cheerful voice of the lift said when it reached her destination. Because of all the things the Death Eaters would leave alone, of course it would be that blasted voice. _"Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Department of Inquisition."_

Department of what now?

The bad feeling in the pit of her stomach was getting stronger now, but she forced herself to focus on the route to the holding cells rather than imagining all the sights that could possibly be waiting for her there. She was only partly successful when she opened the door.

The Ministry had ten cells, and each was built to fit two people at a time. What had to be a hundred people were stuffed inside now, sleeping fitfully in the cramped quarters. Considering the blood purists' attitudes, there was only one explanation that made any sense: these people had all been arrested for the sole crime of being Muggleborns.

Muggleborns, just like her dad was.

A twist of a knob on the wall, and the enchanted lanterns blazed to life. That and conjuring a loud clanging bell was enough to wake everyone up. Most of the prisoners watched her with obvious suspicion, no doubt by now accustomed to mistreatment, but a few appeared to perk up at her scarlet cloak. "Who're you?" one of the men in the nearest cell demanded.

"I'm Auror Tonks. The Minister of Magic, Amelia Bones, sent me and a couple of other Aurors." She jabbed her wand at the cell with more force than was strictly called for, and instead of unlocking the entire lock actually melted. Either way, the door swung open. "And I'm getting you out of here."

The sight of her leading the first group out of the lift clearly surprised Coolidge as well as Gabriella and Proudfoot, but the other Aurors wasted no time in getting everyone downstairs and into the portal-barracks room. Then it was all a matter of waiting, either for Mad-Eye to show up or for the Death Eaters to realize something was going down and storm the building…

The door at the other end of the former library swung open, and in stepped Mad-Eye. Behind him floated the limp form a young man with messy blond hair, his face the black and blue and red that could only be the handiwork of a sufficiently motivated Moody. "What did he do to piss you off?" Dora could not help but ask.

"Threatened me with Voldemort's wrath. Threw curses at me. Generally existed." Mad-Eye flicked his wand to fling the Death Eater at her feet, and with that done he pulled a golden tube out of his pocket and clicked it. Nothing happened that she could see, but considering he did not seem upset at that, she could only assume the cubes were now active. "Recognize him from the last war. That's Barty Crouch Junior. He was supposed to be dead, but I guess even the Veil didn't want anything to do with him."

"And we're going to do what with a dead man?" she asked. If anyone cared about her opinion, she would pump him for all the information he possibly knew, but since she was the most junior Auror here…

"I've got lots of questions and lots of Veritaserum," he said, prodding Crouch's unconscious body. "I'm sure we can keep him occupied for a while."

* * *

"We're ready, my lord."

"Do it."

A nod and a shouted order, and several wizards aimed their wands at Hogwarts with obvious reluctance. Not a single one of them wanted to face his wrath, however, so with a variety of incantations they started pulling and twisting the wards of the castle in every direction.

Voldemort watched their progress with little interest, his focus instead on the target itself. He originally had wanted to leave the wards and the castle intact if at all possible, but that was no longer in the cards. Bones and her Ministry had grown too bold and too capable at waging war against him on unexpected fronts.

It had taken the entire day for his servants to gather their courage and inform him that no one could access the Ministry building, and that meant an entire day for Bones to start reclaiming the building and more importantly the information inside. Not only had he lost the Ministry, though, he had lost Barty, with whom he had been forced to share so many of his finalized plans and even several that he was still working on. If they wanted to get up to date intelligence about his movements, dosing Barty with truth serum was the absolute best route they could possibly choose.

To make matters worse, they had also made progress without him realizing it. Once he decided that he wanted Hogwarts devoid of all life, he Apparated to the town where he had previously positioned the Dementors. The discovery that someone had cleared every one of them out and in such a way that he heard not even a whisper of it sent a shiver down his spine even now. The Aurors and Hit Wizards were not so subtle as this, which meant there was a new group in play.

But when had Bones recruited and trained a _covert operations_ force?!

Two of the wizards attacking the wards burst into white-hot flames, and he watched them collapse into ash with a disinterest bordering on apathy. The lives of these conscripted wizards, chosen specifically because they had no other use to him, were nothing but coin at this point, and coin he was more than willing to spend. Another man vanished, this time fading out of sight with only his scream lingering after him, and he waved Amycus off. This group would be used until the wards were down or they were all dead, and even in the latter case he had two more groups.

And if even they were not enough, he would find more and more people until he _got what he wanted_.

Half the group were killed off in various gruesome ways when it happened. The wards flashed a bright, eye-searing white, and then they did not disappear so much as shatter like delicately spun glass. He tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck with a mad smile. That light would normally be enough to alert anyone watching that something terrible was about to happen, but not at two in the morning. By now the patrolling professors and prefects would have gone to bed, and while the Ministry itself might have guards around the clock – that was information young Danny had not been privy to prior to Black discovering the link – they would have a hard time waking everyone up.

"Death Eaters!" he screamed, and behind him his assembled forces of wizards and creatures all shouted back at him. A wave of his wand commanded every Inferii he had to throw at this problem to sprint towards the castle. They would make a highly lethal first wave just in case anyone was alert to what was about to happen. "This war ends tonight! Move out, and _LEAVE NO ONE ALIVE_!"

* * *

**This was supposed to be longer, but like I said my muse decided she didn't want to cooperate this time around. Hence the reason it's so blegh. She should be in a better mood next chapter, though, because it's part one of the** _**FINAL BATTLE** _ **!**

**Silently Watches out.**


	33. The Siege of Hogwarts

**Mernom, Grim T Reaper:** Look back at the last scene of last chapter. It took the entire day for anyone to tell Voldemort that the Ministry had been taken from them. Moody and co. were long gone when he attacked Hogwarts.

 **Mirai Cheshire:** "Silently Watches out" was planned to have two meanings. One was exactly what you thought, me being on guard for whatever you guys threw at me. The other was more obvious, just me saying goodbye. Sort of like "Yo, I'm out".

**Part one of the final battle… starts… right… … … NOW!**

* * *

**Chapter 33  
** **The Siege of Hogwarts**

" _The time has come,_ ti kras jennès mwen. _Discharge your duty."_

An electric shock raced up Jen's body from the sole of her foot to the tips of her hair, and she yelped as she was ripped out of foggy dreams back into reality. Sitting straight up in bed, she gasped in surprise to find the spirit of the castle standing at the foot of her bed. "Portia! What are you doing here?"

"We have trouble," the lifelike spirit said with a scowl. Simultaneous with her words, an ear-piercing wail came from the very stones of the walls and even those under her feet. "My wards have been destroyed. I cannot prove who is responsible, but we both know who it is."

When she put it like that, of course Jen did. It could only be Voldemort finally attacking the castle. He had also disabled her without knowing it. She tried to stretch out her sonar, but without the wards' assistance her sixth and primary sense reached no farther than the ten feet she had whenever she walked about in the Muggle world.

"Wuzzat?" muttered Luna as she blearily blinked her eyes open. "What's making all that noise? …Jen, who is this and why does she have color even though she's a ghost?"

"Death Eaters are attacking the castle." That knocked the sleepiness out of Luna as well as Tracey, who had also awoken. "Are there any defenses other than the wards that you can bring to bear?"

"The suits of armor are already moving into position, and I'm closing off nonessential doors. But once they realize they can just Apparate nearly anywhere they want in the castle itself, my preparations will lose their effectiveness. Now would be a good time to unleash a thousand-year-old basilisk if I still had one," Portia muttered as though to herself. Without another word, she faded away.

Jen waved her hands in elaborate patterns, which opened the drawers of her dresser and summoned trousers, blouse, and boots onto the proper parts of her body. "Get to the other Ravenclaws and get ready for a bloodbath."

"What are you going to do?"

She smiled at Tracey's question. Grabbing the sheath she had crafted for her dagger as well as a small bag, she tied both of them onto her belt. "I'm heading out too. This war ends tonight, one way or the other."

The window popped open at her command, and she flung herself through the hole into the empty air. Her flight spell caught her after only a second of free fall. Cloaking herself in shadows to minimize her silhouette against the dark of the night, she raced to the front of the castle to see just what kind of forces she and the other inhabitants of the castle would have to deal with.

…And that was a lot of zombies.

Below her and in the rapidly shrinking distance was a carpet of the undead, dashing across the grounds to enact their mindless killing. The doors of the castle would hold against a mindless horde like this, but there were witches and wizards marching along behind them who would make quick work of such defenses. Once they were inside? The benefit and terror of zombies was that they had no higher consciousness. They did not feel fear or pain. Even a tithe of this host inside the castle would cut a terrible swath through its defenders.

It was a very good thing she had already prepared herself against such an eventuality.

A tug loosened the neck of the bag, and from its bottomless depths she pulled out the yew staff she had been working on when Finnegan and Weasley tried to force their way into her workshop. This was not black magic; had it been so, she never would have let the Unspeakables and the Minister examine it so closely. It did not need to be. Just as Morgan le Fay proved fifteen centuries ago with Clarent, the raw force that came from the Powers was not the only means by which a piece of higher magic could be countered. It could also be deflected and neutralized by constructing a device specifically designed to do so. That was exactly what Jen now held in her hands. Thanks to the information she had gleaned from Elsie's ill-planned experimentations with spells that straddled the line between necromancy and soul magic, she knew how the latter was supposed to work.

If she knew how to create it, then she knew enough to destroy it.

She dived to the ground, slamming the butt of her staff between the cobblestones of the courtyard. The runes carved along the length of the wood shone with bloody red light, and a jagged bolt of death-green lightning raced from the top of the staff into the sky above. She sent a silent prayer to the Baron that this would still work. Her original plan was for the spell embodied in the staff to merge with the wards, but only now did she worry that with the wards destroyed her spell would be all but worthless—

The sky instantly lit up with green light flickering in a web that draped over the entire grounds. No, not a web, she realized when she felt her sonar explode from ten feet to a hundred and then continue on until she could feel everything throughout the entirety of the castle and its surrounding. The light was glimmering around and through the fragments of the wards. The wards were destroyed – "dead" for all intents and purposes – and the nature of her magic and the spell itself were interacting with them sympathetically as though they were a proper corpse.

With her eyes and sonar both she watched Voldemort's zombies fall to the ground in unison, the sparks of his soul collapsing into raw magic. That magic was supposed to disperse, but instead of doing what she expected it was drawn though the earth to the courtyard and into her staff. The shaft of wood expanded, digging roots into the ground out of nowhere and splitting into leafy branches as it stretched towards the moon.

Where once there had been a product of witchcraft now stood a living tree.

"…Huh." She shook her head and fought off the urge to gawk. This was _not_ what she designed it to do, which was worrying all on its own, but it had accomplished its task, and that was all that really mattered in the end. The living wizards running towards the castle slowed down in surprise, but then a large portion of them spun and translocated themselves from the grounds into the Great Hall and other rooms inside Hogwarts. The Ministry was quick to mobilize in response. Curses flew and screams sounded, and then the battle began in earnest.

Jen rolled her shoulders. Most of the Death Eaters were inside now, but that did not mean she should abandon her position quite yet. After all, she still had a few easy targets coming her way. Anyone who was not familiar enough with Hogwarts to teleport straight in would have to come though this courtyard if they wanted to enter. She would be remiss in her duties to an extreme if she just let them come through.

Waiting until the stragglers among the Death Eaters were close enough, she flung her hands upwards and conjured a wall of cursed fire within the empty gateway between the courtyard and the grounds. That was a sign even a blind man would notice that things were about to go south with a quickness, but she did not give them time to react. She shoved her hands in front of her, and the wall became a wave of blue and white flames. Her conflagration roared and rolled over the attackers like the merciless tide.

All that it left behind were bones and a few chunks of charred meat.

With the spell spent, she gestured again and conjured a section of heavy stone to plug up the gateway. Four flicks of her fingers carved and charged an eihwaz rune into the side closest to her, which should keep anyone from vanishing or simply destroying her barricade. That took care of that, and for the other entrances…

Jen cocked her head when she felt who was running towards the other main entrance. They should be more than capable of dealing with _that_. Voldemort himself was not within the wards; most likely he was waiting until the defending force had been softened up by his shock troops before he walked onto the field of battle. Her fight was with him, but until he showed up she had nothing to do but kill time and maybe a few Death Eaters.

Her sonar fell on someone she recognized, and the smile that formed on her face was feral. Yes, she had time for a little fun.

* * *

Tracey glanced at the open window for a moment before shaking her head. The window? Really, Jen? The wailing was still present and growing louder, but thankfully once they left the dorm room itself the alarm quietened to a manageable volume. The rest of Ravenclaw house was already assembling in their common room, and as the last of the seventh years gathered the door leading to the rest of the castle slid open to admit Flitwick. His eyes scanned the room, and in them Tracey could see the knowledge of what was about to happen.

"Seventh-years, come with me. The rest of you, stay here. Prefects are in charge."

Morag fell in behind Tracey and Luna, Padma joining a couple of seconds later. "Where's Jen?" the Scottish witch asked.

"Jumped out a window. Just look for the thick of the fighting. She'll probably be there."

"Is everyone safe in the common room?" asked Goldstein, looking back at the bronze eagle.

Flitwick did not look back and instead kept on leading them to the stairwell. Then again, with his short legs, if he slowed down he would probably be trampled. "The dormitories are heavily warded, independent of the wards on the rest of the castle. They should hold for a time. Worry more about yourself, Anthony.

"I am sorry that you have to be part of this," he said louder so all of them could hear. "You are students, and you should be kept safe. Unfortunately, evil has come to our doors. You are students, but you are also adults. You are the last line of defense for the younger students. If the Death Eaters reach the dorms, they will kill them. Your job, _our_ job, is to keep that from happening."

As they descended the stairwell, they could hear the sounds of stone breaking and people shouting. The battle had clearly already been joined. A sharp crack sounded on the landing above them, and they all spun around to find a black-robed Death Eater and an Auror in scarlet grabbing onto each other. The Auror threw them both over the rail, and an instant later they once again vanished into the aether.

"Of course. The wards are down, so now Apparation is no longer an issue," Flitwick muttered to himself. "That will make things more complicated. Everyone, grab a partner. Do _not_ let yourselves be caught by yourself." With that, the professor spun on his heel and vanished.

"Great. How are we going to do this?" Morag asked.

Tracey glanced over at Luna, who was visibly mulling over their options. They had been taught by the Aurors who took over the Defense Against the Dark Arts class always to fight in teams of four, and they were one of the attack teams that had been trained. That being said, she was under no illusions that part of the reason for that was because Jen and Morag were the tip of the spear, with Luna and herself throwing out a few hits when they saw them but also covering their rear and flanks. Padma, on the other hand, had not been part of their team nor had even enrolled in the NEWT-level class, so she could not slip into Jen's role.

Not to mention, running out and fighting ruthless killers was not how she wanted her life to end. The Ministry and the Gryffindors were guaranteed to go out and risk their lives, but while she would not cower in a closet and hope to be spared she had no plans of dying here.

"The Aurors and Hit Wizards will be better at fighting than we are," Luna said, all but reading her mind. "It sounds like most of the fighting is going on in the Great Hall. The best help we could give is Apparating into the Great Hall and picking up anyone who's hurt to take them back to the hospital wing so Madam Pomfrey can patch them up."

Padma nodded with that idea, and Tracey shrugged. It would help, assuming the Death Eaters were not throwing around Killing Curses like candy, and it should keep them out of the worst of the fighting. "Sounds good. We drop in at the end of the Ravenclaw table nearest the door. Shields up, look for anyone who's down and still breathing, and then we get to the hospital wing as fast as we can. Ready?"

Three heads nodded at her, and she threw herself into the too-tight tube of Apparation. She reappeared in the Great Hall, which no longer looked anything like itself. Tables and benches had been overturned or shattered or transfigured into weapons, and the air glowed as though it had been seared by the magic being flung back and forth. Tracey twirled her wand in a tight circle and erected a silver shield that narrowly deflected an errant arrow. "See anybody?" she asked in a tight voice, quickly glancing around the area.

The longer they were here, the more chances there were for somebody to try killing them.

Padma did not answer, but she did lower herself to the ground and scuttle around the large chunks of table nearby. While she did that and Luna moved with her to provide defense if necessary, Tracey and Morag crouched down out of sight. "Can you cover me?" the Scottish witch asked. "I can transfigure some of this into wolves or something to go after the Death Eaters."

"You mean like he is?" she asked.

Morag followed her finger to find James Potter slinging spell after spell at a short, fat wizard in black, a pride of lions moving with him to block curses coming his way from other fighters. "Yeah, pretty much."

The other girl started working on transforming what was left of the tables into an attack zoo, and Tracey glanced around to see where else she could lend a hand. Near the middle of the room she found Granger and Longbottom's foursome, though unlike Potter they were not doing so well. That had less to do with their own skills and more to do with the fact that they were facing off against both Lestrange brothers as well as another Death Eater she did not immediately recognize. Finnegan was slumped over on the ground with Granger standing guard over him, and Longbottom and Weasley were doing their best to keep the Death Eaters' curses from landing, but it was obvious at this point that the Dark wizards were just playing with them.

"We grabbed a couple of people," Luna said, sliding back into view. "We're ready to go."

"Let's get a move on then." She popped out from behind cover for long enough to throw a Banishing Charm at the nearer of the Lestranges. He went flying, and she ducked back down before she could see what happened next and before the other Lestrange spotted her. "Go!"

Again they Apparated. Luna and Padma both appeared with bodies next to them, and the witch and wizard they had managed to grab were thankfully still breathing. "Madam Pomfrey, we need some help!" she shouted behind her into the hospital wing.

"Oh dear."

That… was not Pomfrey. Tracey turned around to find a different witch watching them. Curly black hair. A manic grin. Face splattered with blood. Most worrisome, purple eyes that would be familiar were it not for the insanity glittering behind them.

"Clever little bitches, aren't you?" taunted Bellatrix Lestrange.

She opened her mouth to tell the others to run, but Lestrange was already moving. " _Crucio_." The jet of blood-red light streaked into their midst and landed squarely on Padma, who fell to the ground screaming as though she were about to die. Considering who they were facing, that was exactly what was going to happen.

That did not mean they had to go down without a fight. Tracey hurriedly flicked her wand. It was common knowledge that the Unforgiveables could not be stopped, but as the Hit Wizards had taught them, that was not exactly the case. They could not be stopped by any _shield charm_. The slab of stone she had conjured blocked off her view of the crazy witch, and she slammed two more on either side. "We need to go! Morag, grab Padma's wizard, and I'll get her—"

The rocks shattered and slammed into her, driving her to the ground. Her head rang from the fist-sized chunks that had been flying around. "You can't leave yet," Lestrange said in a singsong voice. "We're just get-ting _star-ted_."

Lestrange raised her wand, the incantation for the Cruciatus Curse already on her lips.

Lightning slammed into the witch's side, making _her_ scream this time and throwing her into the nearby wall. The lightning stopped, and streams of smoke wafted off her robes. That was not enough to stop Lestrange, though, and she climbed to her feet with her face twisted in hate.

Their savior tutted. "Uh uh, mother dearest. These girls belong to me."

Jen stared back at Lestrange for just an instant, and then both witches were moving. Lestrange threw a crescent of violet flame that Jen deflected with a glove of silver light, and then she hurled back two yellow globs that Lestrange evaded. The globs hit the walls instead and started eating through the stone. Jen conjured a metal shield to take the Cruciatus Curse that came her way, and she banished the shield edge-first at her mother only to have to dive to the side when it became a swarm of needles. A bolt of lightning bounced between mother and daughter and growing bigger with each return, but neither was willing to deflect it and leave herself open for the split second that would take. Jen took care of that problem when she made it explode between them, and while she was obviously expecting the rush of force that resulted, Lestrange was not.

That surprise was still not enough to keep Lestrange from vanishing a trio of pitch-black cubes Jen threw her way.

A thin tongue of flame curled around the tip of Lestrange's wand when she dodged Jen's next attack, and then that little bit of fire spewed out a massive burning snake. The serpent slammed into Jen's hands, and the force of the blow started pushing her backwards. The snake got larger and larger as Lestrange poured magic into the spell, and soon it was so big they could not see Jen behind it.

Tracey gulped. No one, not even Jen, could survive that.

"You're a fool, girl!" Lestrange shouted. "No real daughter of mine would side with Dumbledore and the Order! You're _weak_ , and for that you'll die!"

"The Order? How small do you think my ambitions are?"

The snake flickered before vanishing completely, revealing the scene to be nothing more than a clever illusion. Instead of forming a snake, the fires from Lestrange's wand were being sucked up into a miniature sun hanging between Jen's hands. Jen shot them a sweaty smile and twisted her hands. The flames spewed forward like dragon's breath to hit the wall, just barely missing Lestrange. Another column of fire flew out almost as though it were a branch from a tree, and this one hit Jen's mother and shoved her backwards at a scary speed.

Lestrange hit one of the windows set into the wall, and that force was enough to shatter the glass. The flames that had been pushing her collapsed into themselves and formed a rope that wrapped itself around her wrists. That was the only thing that kept the crazy witch from falling out, that and her shoes trying desperately to hold onto the window sill.

"That's a nasty drop behind you. If you're not careful, you might just fall," Jen said in a fake conversational tone. Her expression softened for a moment, and Tracey gripped her wand tighter. If Jen reeled her mother back in, she would not appreciate it and show them mercy. She would just try to kill them again.

"Bye bye, Mummy."

The knot around Lestrange's wrist tightened onto itself and vanished. Lestrange screamed as her hands flew back into the room. Bereft of any kind of tension holding her up, she fell backwards and out of sight.

Jen strolled over to the window and looked down. "Told you it was a nasty drop." An unreadable expression crossed her face too quickly for Tracey to make it out clearly. "Oh well. I guess I'll just have to see you in hell."

* * *

Dora ran to a window and scowled when she saw exactly what Mad-Eye had predicted was going to happen. Voldemort tended to go for multi-prong attacks, both in this war and in the first war back in the seventies, but here at Hogwarts the situation was different. He could not attack another location and split their forces this time; they knew that he would come after them as soon as he found out they had taken the Ministry back from him. They could not run away to put out a fire elsewhere in the country and split their forces when they knew it was just a distraction. He _had_ to attack them here.

So how would someone whose first instinct was to misdirect them deal with an enemy who was solidly on the defensive? He would send another force to try breaking in through the back door. The back door, in this case, being the doorway that led to the greenhouses in the back of the grounds.

Shaking her head, she left the window and quickly made her way to the nearest stairwell. She would prefer to attack them from above, but with these particular foes she could not afford to scatter them and let them head towards the main entrance. If even one of them found their way into the castle, the results would be horrible.

Someone else was running towards the stairs, and the owner of the footsteps turned the corner. "Tonks," Remus breathed, his eyes widened in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm going out to deal with the trash."

He shook his head almost violently. "You can't! Those are werewolves out there, Tonks. Werewolves who took that same potion they used two years ago to attack Hogsmeade."

"I know. I can look out a window, too."

"Then you know you can't go out there alone. It's too dangerous."

Dangerous? _Dangerous_?! Her hair flopped thick and black behind her, and her fist clenched tighter around her wand. _This_ was why she had abandoned her crush on Remus. His delusional, chauvinistic opinion on her skills, namely a lack thereof. "Dangerous? Like you're _'too dangerous_ '?" He nodded, and she snapped, "Maybe they're too dangerous for _you_ to handle, but some of us are a little more capable than you are."

She stormed away, her anger clawing furiously in her chest even as he called her name. She hated idiots who thought she was some damsel in distress! Thankfully for her and for him, she had an alternate target to unleash this rage on. A wave of her wand opened the door in front of her, and she walked out and stared down the ten or twelve transformed werewolves loping her way.

"Tonks! Get back inside!"

Four flicks marked out the boundaries of her spell. She could cast it without that, but if she did so she would not get the nice edges she needed for this to work properly. The first wolf entered her trap, but she held off. She could not afford to trigger this early.

Remus yelled again and actually found the gumption to leave the nice safety of the castle.

The last of the wolves crossed the boundary, but the first was the fastest and had crossed the nearest line. An underhanded pitch with her wand fixed that, the Bludger replica she conjured slamming at high speeds into its chest and throwing it backwards. She twirled her wand twice in the air and flipped it into a reverse grip to jab it back down towards the ground. " _Terrum descendio_!"

The ground collapsed under the wolves, reforming nearly twenty feet below the surface. Without something to stand on, the attacking werewolves fell to the bottom. She walked over to the edge and peered down. The fall would not be enough to kill them or even injure them, but it made the next step much easier.

"That fall won't hurt them," warned Remus. "They're already climbing back up. You need to—"

" _Muratela_."

Faster than the eye could blink, wooden spears ripped through the near and far walls like long teeth squishing a nice, juicy grape. She looked out the corner of her eyes to find Remus staring down at the wolves pinned onto the walls like bugs and very, very dead. "Oh," he finally managed.

"Yeah. Oh." She scoffed and shook her head. "Like I told you two years ago, Remus, you're no threat to me. If I wanted to, I could make your big bad wolf my little bitch."

He opened his mouth no doubt to argue that before another look downwards reminded him that there might actually be some truth to her statement. "Maybe I misunderstood what you were after," he muttered, though how she could have misunderstood _'Let's go out for a coffee or something later'_ she had nary a clue. "I've heard of a few witches who wanted to date a werewolf, even met one or two. They're always either looking to heal the wolf or because they want a bad boy."

A bad boy? Remus? She could not hold back her laughter. "I spend my days at work _arresting_ 'bad boys'. There's no way I would want to take one home with me. No, I asked you out because I've always liked older guys, and you had this whole nervous bookishness to you. Made sense considering you were a professor for a year."

"…Bookish?"

"Yeah. I get more than enough adrenaline at work. If I'm coming home to someone, I want it to be someone who's nice and even-tempered and will let me relax without causing a lot of drama."

Remus spluttered for a long moment but did not produce anything to counter her statement.

Anything he might have eventually said was cut off by a loud voice booming out of the sky itself as though it belonged to a vengeful god. "ALBUS DUMBLEDORE. YOU AND YOUR CHILDREN HAVE FOUGHT BRAVELY. I WILL COMMEND YOU ON THIS. BUT EVEN NOW THEIR BLOOD POOLS IN THE GREAT HALL AND THE CORRIDORS OF HOGWARTS.

"AMELIA BONES. I FIND MYSELF SURPRISED AND IMPRESSED AT THE TENACITY OF YOUR AURORS, BUT THEY ARE NOT LIMITLESS. WE BOTH KNOW THIS, AND WHEN THE LAST OF THEM FALLS YOU WILL HAVE NOTHING LEFT.

"BUT I, LORD VOLDEMORT, AM NOT A STRANGER TO MERCY. I OFFER YOU A CHOICE. IF YOU BOTH PRESENT YOURSELVES TO THE FORBIDDEN FOREST WITHIN AN HOUR'S TIME, I WILL SPARE THE MEN, WOMEN, AND CHILDREN STILL ALIVE WITHIN THE WALLS AND GROUNDS OF HOGWARTS. THEY NEED NOT FEAR ME NOR MY MEN'S WRATH.

"IF YOU DO NOT DO SO, I WILL NOT REST UNTIL HOGWARTS HAS BEEN RIPPED APART TO ITS LAST STONE AND EVERYONE WITHIN IS DEAD, FROM THE ELDEST GREAT-GRANDFATHER TO THE YOUNGEST BABE STILL FEEDING AT ITS MOTHER'S TIT.

"DUMBLEDORE. BONES. YOU HOLD THE FATE OF OVER FIVE THOUSAND SOULS IN YOUR HANDS. YOU HAVE ONE HOUR TO DECIDE. CHOOSE WISELY."

* * *

"Danny! You can come out now.

"Look, I'm sorry I locked you in your room, but you have to understand that I did it to protect you. You can't go out there and fight, not… not like you are right now. This isn't even your fight, Danny. It never should have been.

"…Danny? Are you even listening to me?"

Lily unlocked the door to her son's room and had to force the door open. Her eyes found first all the broken clutter sitting in front of the doorway, obviously the result of his anger at being left behind, but beyond that her gaze was met by mangled flesh and a puddle of blood.

"DANNY!"

* * *

**Ugh. Remus, why did you insist on showing up and being such a wet blanket? And Danny, you know better than to make a mess like this! Now you need to clean… it… up?**

… **Never mind.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	34. Cage Match

**U-233:** The confusion here is probably because what we call "necromancy" is actually controlled by two different Powers. Death gives magics related to physical death and corpses, but he cannot summon the spirits of the dead. That form of necromancy is the domain of Perchta. Voodoo and physical necromancy both come from Death, so they're more or less the same thing, just with slightly different flavors.

 **Doctor Winter:** Jen's staff actually killed the soul pieces in the Inferii and absorbed the magic that was left. The tree is a real living thing now. Voldemort called Dumbledore and Bones out because they have supporters. Their followers are the army his own has to fight. Jen? She's an independent threat, and one he wants to deal with one-on-one.

* * *

**Chapter 34  
** **Cage Match**

" _DUMBLEDORE. BONES. YOU HOLD THE FATE OF OVER FIVE THOUSAND SOULS IN YOUR HANDS. YOU HAVE ONE HOUR TO DECIDE. CHOOSE WISELY."_

Those words echoed in Albus's head. He stood in the Great Hall, watching the Ministry and the students and even people who had no connection to the war other than being displaced from their homes slowly make their way through the carnage and lay out bodies. Far, far too many bodies. A swath of solemn black and blue and scarlet for the Hit Wizards and Aurors who fell. A sea of various colored clothing for the students and volunteers who perished defending the school. There was even, to his shock, a small and deliberately untidy pile of bodies wearing silver masks with their black robes. Death Eaters, though he expected it was the least trained among them who had perished here.

Alastor stomped over to him. "I assume you have numbers you wish to share," Albus said with a sigh.

"Nothing firm. They're still counting the bodies, but it was bad. Here, but also in the camps around the grounds. Looks like the bunch of werewolves Tonks killed stopped in one of them first to have a little snack." The other man's bright blue eye swiveled around to look over the Great Hall again. "I want to say Voldemort's little speech was a bluff. That he's only giving us an hour because _he_ needs that time to get his forces back into position for another strike. But looking at the number of people we did manage to take down? There aren't many, and he's had near a full year to gather anybody who sees the Death Eaters as the winning side. He probably did more damage to us than we did to him."

That was about what he had figured out himself. "Just between us, old friend, do you think he would follow through on his promises? That if Amelia and I surrender ourselves, everyone else would be safe?"

"Have you lost the plot?" demanded Alastor. "You aren't actually thinking about going through with it, are you? We both know he's lying about that. He wants the leaders of the opposition to deliver themselves to him so he can _kill you_ , and after that there will be no one leading the people here. He'd sweep through and slaughter everyone!"

"That was my expectation as well." Alastor's glare lightened slightly at Albus's soft reassurance. "I would not trust any guarantees or offers he made. Unfortunately, I believe we have recently seen that my ability to divine the motives behind people's actions is…" His smile was lopsided and scathing. "Less reliable than I once thought it to be.

"Don't worry. I have no intention of walking to my death. Perhaps, once, I might have considered it a worthy exchange. If Danny were still whole and hale. As he is, though—"

"He's dead, too." Albus whipped his head around to stare at Alastor. "Heard a mention of it from Connery, swung by to check it out myself before I came here." The Auror scratched his head. "Wasn't a Death Eater that did it. Best I can figure, Voldemort put a trap in that mess he called a rune scheme. I _think_ the plan was to transfigure Danny's body into a replica of his own and then get him killed by friendly fire, but something went wrong. It tore his body apart."

"Human transfiguration through runes." Albus shook his head, still shocked by everything he had just been told. At least this part he could focus on, his own mastery of transfiguration taking him for just a moment out of the real world to the realm of academia. "Why would he even think that was a good idea? He should know better. Human transfiguration is the most complicated application of the art, and even a minor mistake with it can potentially be fatal. Trying to do so through runes is all but guaranteed to fail. He should know better than to try it, but there is no way to know if he simply forgot about it or if he wanted it to fall apart."

Perhaps it was meant to break morale? Danny had been locked in his room when the fighting started; James and Lily had mentioned previously that this was their plan should Tom attack the castle itself. It was meant to keep him safe. If he had been allowed to join the fight, however, he would have thrown himself into the thick of the fighting. His death, messy and agonizing, would have been visible to everyone around him, and that might be just enough for the defenders to hesitate and be slaughtered by the Death Eaters.

His ponderings were pulled back from the dark road they threatened to travel when he saw Amelia headed his way, a pair of Aurors trying to move behind her before she waved them away. "Dumbledore."

"Minister."

Alastor gave her a respectful nod that she returned. "I'm assuming by the way you two are whispering that you're cooking up some kind of response to what just happened?"

"I wish," the grizzled wizard grunted. "Just catching up on the casualties so far. Albus nearly gave me a heart attack suggesting he take Voldemort up on his deal."

"Are you mad?! If you want to kill yourself, there are quicker and easier ways to do it," Amelia snapped.

"Peace, Minister Bones. I was not seriously considering it. I simply wished confirmation that I was not ignoring a viable option, no matter how dubious it sounded. I know as well as you do that what our enemy wants is to kill us both and then return to sacking the castle. I do not mean to give him the opportunity to do so."

"You have a plan then?"

He hesitated. 'Plan'… was a bit of strong word. "I have some ideas I am weighing."

"Well, weigh them faster. We're nearly a quarter through the hour he gave us."

Easier said than done, that. He had no intention of facing Tom in a straight duel in front of an audience of Death Eaters, but as much as he hated it, he could not ignore the fact that just as with Gellert, this could only be ended by violence. Once again he would have to fight a Dark Lord, and once again he would have to win so thoroughly that their followers would put down their own wands.

Unfortunately for everybody, he did not believe that Tom had the same understanding of his own limitations that Gellert did. Tom would not surrender. He would have to be beaten not into submission but into unconsciousness. Nothing short of total victory would suffice, and despite Albus's greater experience and his own power, he knew that total victory would be excruciatingly difficult.

Within his pocket, the Elder Wand vibrated happily at the opportunity to be used as it was intended.

"How do you plan to get Voldemort away from the Death Eaters?" asked Alastor, distracting him from his fruitless train of thoughts. "You're good, Albus, even good enough to beat Voldemort one on one, but no one is good enough to face him and his entire army all at the same time.

"By getting him away," he replied cryptically. The more he thought about it, the simpler the answer came. He even had a good idea for where this should all take place, someplace that would bear no little amount of irony. He turned to the Minister. "Amelia, I know we have had our differences"—the scoff she made at that reinforced just how wide a gulf those differences had carved—"but for all that we are after the same thing in the end: the safety of the people under our protection. You cannot abandon them."

"These are my people, Dumbledore. My citizens. I never had any intention of abandoning them."

Leaving Alastor and Amelia to flesh out the defense of the castle itself after promising he would let them know when he initiated his plan so that they might launch a surprise attack on the Death Eaters, he wandered out of the Great Hall into the small room adjoining it. It was not a room that was used often; in fact, the last time he remembered it being used at all was during the Triwizard Tournament when all the champions had been chosen in the first place. Even now, with space within the Great Hall in which to lay out the fallen being gobbled up at a depressing rate, this room was unused.

He could not exactly complain about that. It would give him the privacy with which to depart. No one could see this, for if word got around that he was running, it would destroy morale currently and also wreck the public's faith in him for years to come at least. He did not want years more in the public eye if he could help it, but the person whom he thought would succeed him as the Leader of the Light was Danny. Danny, who was crippled, unable to cast magic…

…and dead. That fact was still hard to process. Before, all the tragedies and torments that had befallen Danny were challenges that he would have to overcome. But death? Death was final. Danny could provide no help to the world now. He had already departed on his next great adventure.

No, now was not the time to grieve. There would be ample opportunities to do so later on. Right now his thoughts had to be directed to the immediate future and the fight it entailed. Grabbing a candlestick off a table, he incanted, " _Portus_."

The end of the hour's grace period that Tom had granted found Albus being followed by what looked like Amelia down towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest. His companion did not say much, not that a hastily transfigured and animate simulacrum really could, and he forced himself not to react when he noticed two Death Eaters seemingly melt out of the trees. More slipped into sight as he passed, and all too soon he stood surrounded on all sides by Death Eaters. The wand in his hand was torn from his grip by a Summoning Charm and flew between the trees.

The loss of his wand was followed by a slow, mocking clap.

"Well, well," Tom said as he came into view twirling Albus's wand between his fingers, "this is a surprise. I did not expect you to actually come. I expected you to be smarter than this, quite frankly. Why are you here, Dumbledore? Did you expect to bargain for the lives of the traitors you have sheltered for the last year?"

"I am here to give you one last chance."

"Oh? One last chance to what?" prompted Tom.

The Dark wizard could not have given him a more perfect opportunity, and his gentle smile turned just a tad sharper. "To _repent_."

At that word, the portkey on the fake wand Tom had summoned activated, as did the portkey on his own person. They vanished into a whirlpool of color, and Albus fought the gorge that threatened to come up. Three portkeys in less than an hour was enough to unsettle even the most stalwart of stomachs. His feet landed hard on the grass, and he worked a wandless _Finite_ on the inside of his left sleeve. The Elder Wand slipped out of its Sticking Charm and into his waiting hand.

"Where are we?" he heard Tom ask himself as the younger wizard stood and looked over the battleground. What was there to look at, really, as it was still the dark of deep night, and the surroundings were impossible to see beyond the walls reaching up towards the sky.

Even though the question was not meant for him, he answered anyway. "Don't you recognize this place? It was here that your followers announced your return, even if they were unaware of it." Jabbing his wand upwards, he shot up a trio of pure white flares that cast the high boxes of the Quidditch World Cup stadium into sharp relief. Tom spun around, though his perplexed expression afterwards was proof that it was not done so he might enjoy the view. "Now Tom, give me a little credit. You can't simply Disapparate away. Neither of us are leaving here until you break."

Tom snarled with hatred, and his own wand came out. Albus readied the Deathstick. This would be the fight for the soul of Britain.

That was when two bolts of lightning were flung down from the heavens.

* * *

"What are you planning, old man?"

Jen tapped her chin in thought as she listened to Dumbledore and Mad-Eye discussing what to do now. The news that Danny was dead was interesting if a little frustrating. Without their crippled son to focus on, she just knew that the Potters would turn every iota of their attention on her to try wooing her back into the family if for no other reason that she was the only potential heir left, and that meant the House of Potter's dissolution as soon as James kicked the bucket.

Mad-Eye's magical eye turned her way, but she had no fear that he would spot her. After all, she was not even physically present. As soon as she had an opportunity to break away from everyone else following Voldemort's ultimatum, she had fled to her dorm and pulled out her scrying mirror to keep a close eye on Dumbledore. It meant she was blind to Bones's actions since she could only scry on one person at a time, but in all honesty she was far less concerned about the Minister's plans. She had made herself not invaluable but certainly useful to the Ministry's war efforts, and she had no special grudge against one Amelia Bones.

Dumbledore, on the other hand? Oh, words could not express the grudge she held, nor the excitement she felt at the opportunity that had just fallen into her lap. If Dumbledore and Voldemort really were going to square off, she just might be able to kill both her birds with a single stone.

The old man walked into a side room and charmed a candlestick into a portkey. The next instant her world devolved into smoke and blurry colors, and she pulled herself out of the false world of her scrying mirror. "Damn," she sighed. Portkeys were not like teleportation; they were not instantaneous, and so long as Dumbledore was in transit he was impossible to track. Depending on how far he was going, she had possibly several minutes before he reached his destination.

On the bright side, that gave her time to change her clothes. If she really was going to cast off her mask and murder the obstacles in her way, it was high time she looked the part.

She checked the mirror a few minutes later and located the old goat. He was busy casting spells around and between tall towers, and panning her view around she realized this was a stadium of some kind. It was lacking something of a coliseum feel without a blood-thirsty audience, but strategically it was still a good choice with how abandoned it was. His intentions were becoming clearer. Isolate Voldemort and defeat him. With the Elder Wand at his side, he stood a better than normal chance of victory, but that assumed the Deathstick did not turn on its owner at the perfectly wrong moment. Considering it was created by the Baron as a means to murder its first wielder, she would not bet against an inopportune betrayal.

Dumbledore waved the Wand around, though what he was casting should could not feel via scrying. She would need to examine the magic in person. As she was already planning to do that, she guided her point of view away from the stadium proper and scrutinized the remains of the campgrounds that were revealed.

Pulling herself out of the vision, she twisted her way through time and space to reappear at that same point. A twist of light rendered her flight to the killing field completely invisible. Dumbledore was working on temporary wards, she discovered, prohibitions against just about any form of magical transportation. He was keyed into the spell, which if it were left alone would give him a mobility advantage. Once those spells were in place, he cast others to keep anyone from noticing anything unusual about this area.

A private stage for what was to be the duel of the decade. How quaint.

Jen let him finish his work and return to Hogwarts before she returned to visibility and set about systematically undermining his strategy. Every ward that he had exempted himself from she recast. As she was already under its effects, doubling it would have no impact on her, but it would force Dumbledore to play by the same rules she and Voldemort would be subjected to. The only spell she left unchanged was the protection against portkeys. That one was a necessity for now, but as soon as her playdates arrived…

Two men appeared half an hour later, and she erected another anti-portkey paling. It was time to have some fun.

The entire time Dumbledore was monologuing, she let her magic build, and she opened the duel with lightning raining down on both her enemies. They were able to shield themselves, sadly; Voldemort with the same triangular shield he used when he attacked Hogsmeade two years prior, and Dumbledore with a dome of pale blue light that deflected the arcs of electricity around him and into the ground. Their wands whipped back to point at each other as soon as the danger was over, but their faces revealed their confusion and their worry. As far as they were aware, they were the only two humans here, so if they both suffered that attack, where could it have possibly come from?

The wind swept past her as her invisibility faded, the diaphanous black gown wrapped around her rustling in the breeze. "You two are up late," she taunted, and even she would admit that her smile was more than a little manic. That was excusable, though. After all, tonight was the culmination of three years of hatred and rage. "Don't you know that old men should be in their beds by now?"

"Miss Black?" Dumbledore whispered, his words echoing in the silence of the deserted night. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm here for the two of you. Death wants your head on a silver platter, Voldemort, and he sent me to collect it. You've been a naughty, naughty boy. Soul jars? Horcruxes?" She tutted with a shake of her head, her smile brightening at the expression of terror on the Dark Lord's face. Why would he not be afraid? If she knew about his soul jars, he had to assume she knew how to destroy them, and worse, maybe even where to find them. Jen turned her attention to Dumbledore. "As for you? My conflict with you is entirely personal. You did your best to ruin my life, and now it's time for Frankenstein's monster to exact revenge on her creator."

"Now isn't the time for this tantrum, Miss Black," Dumbledore replied, most of his attention still on Voldemort's wand. Did he really think she was bluffing or any less dangerous than she looked.

"Oh, now's the perfect time. Both my targets are isolated, and there isn't a single witness within a dozen kilometers I expect."

A laugh sounded, and she flicked her eyes over to Voldemort to verify that yes, it had been him who thought this was so amusing. "I fully intend to kill you as well, Black, but in this case don't you think it would be in both our interests to deal with the old goat first? Dumbledore is wily and dangerous, but not even he can survive an onslaught from two masters of the Black Arts." That caught Dumbledore's attention and sent it her way, earning another short laugh from Voldemort. "You had no idea, did you, old man? Four years you let a _necromancer_ wander the halls of Hogwarts. Who knows how many students died to realize her ambitions?"

This was less than optimal. She could not afford to let anyone who found out about her status as a black mage wander off, which meant she had yet another reason for why Dumbledore had to die. What a tragedy. "Fewer than you might think. Besides Zabini, I don't think I've killed any active students."

"Make your decision quickly, girl. Black wizards and witches need to stand together, and we both know how he leans. He would not be bound to a phoenix had he any sympathy to our kind."

"Oh, you foolish man," she replied. Her magic flexed behind her. This was likely the last bit of conversation that would take place before the curses started flying. Already, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. "If you served any god but Nyarlathotep, I might just take you up on that offer. Nyarlathotep can't lay eyes on someone without scheming how to betray them, and everyone knows his avatars are cut from the same cloth. Only an idiot would trust your word."

Silence stretched among them for an endless instant, and then Jen twisted in a tight spin to avoid the curse that came her way. Dumbledore took advantage of Voldemort's inattentiveness to turn the dirt at his feet into a whirlwind, and with the Dark Lord now thoroughly distracted he tried to move himself to a more advantageous position on the battlefield. That split second was enough for Jen to flick another lightning bolt at him, though to her chagrin he was quick enough on the uptake to deflect it into a nearby rock and retaliate with a pale red spell. It _could_ be a disarming jinx, but she had no way to know for sure with her sonar at its minimum range. She swayed to one side and let it pass by her harmlessly.

Dumbledore's attention being on her meant Voldemort had a moment to focus his full fury, and he launched what looked like a crimson lightning bolt dripping lava at the light wizard. Dumbledore barely managed to catch it, pushing back with what she could almost imagine was the same spell in a rich blue hue. It was the expression of concentration that earned her attention, though. Was Dumbledore only just able to hold that spell back? If that were the case, a single misstep could be all it took for him to fall.

She spun a hand and wrapped him in the same miniature tornado he had previously caught Voldemort in. It was ironic, she supposed, that after spurning Voldemort's offer she would act in accordance with it, but just because his Power was a pathologic back-stabber did not mean his facts were incorrect. Dumbledore had more experience with magic than the two of them put together, and if he ever started acting in concert with the Elder Wand's desires he would be a fearsome opponent indeed. Getting rid of him so she could focus solely on Voldemort could only benefit her.

Eyes clouded by the dirt and grit she was throwing in his face and wand occupied by holding off Voldemort's curse, Dumbledore did not buckle as Jen expected. Instead he shouted something, the words lost in the roar of her whirlwind. Perhaps a desperate incantation, perhaps a plea for mercy—

A high-pitched screech rent the air and drove pure molten pain into her head, and Jen screamed as a ball of fire appeared above Dumbledore and manifested into his blasted phoenix. Her hand was still pointed in his general direction, and desperately she flung a handful of cursed fire.

She was not alone. Voldemort was not a servant of Death, and thus he was not quite as harmed by the cry of the Baron's opposite. It still hurt him as a black mage, however, and he had likewise retaliated. His Killing Curse flew faster than her fire and had the same incredible accuracy all his spells seemed to share. The bolt of green light hit the phoenix square in the chest, and the bird burst apart into fire and ash. There would be a chick in the center, she knew, the reborn form of the phoenix that had died.

It never had a chance to land.

Her cursed fire did not have the pinpoint accuracy Voldemort's curse did, but it did not need it. The blue and white flames mixed with those produced by the dying phoenix and overtook them. A strange keening filled the air for just a moment, and then the flames folded up on themselves and vanished from existence.

Dumbledore's eyes were firmly focused on the air where his phoenix had once been. Jen was likewise surprised, but she forced the astonishment out of her head as best as she could and prepared a shield spell in her left hand. What was it the Baron had told her once upon a time? That a phoenix _could_ be destroyed, and it would reform elsewhere with no memory of its previous 'life'? The fragments of Enoch could not be exterminated or culled, but this would keep it from pulling out any last-minute tricks it might have even as a chick.

A blink, and the moment of shared amazement – and in Dumbledore's case, horror – ended. Jen was immediately thankful for the triangular shield she had stolen from Voldemort, for the loss of his companion was enough to drive the former headmaster into what in anyone else she would call a murderous rage. Shimmering golden lights hammered into her shield, which immediately began to crack underneath the assault. Another spell from a different direction hit the shield and shattered it. Only a quick conjuration saved her from whatever the effect of Dumbledore's curse was. She cloaked herself from sight and dived upwards and to the side as quickly as she possibly could.

She was just in time. It was only a couple of heartbeats later that the wall likewise crumbled, and the spot where she had stood was scoured clean. That area left her sonar in the next second as she continued flying in the direction she had jumped.

Bloody Voldemort, she thought with a blind glare in the last direction she had seen him. Her shield should not have collapsed so quickly from the addition of one more spell. It was a shield she had stolen from him, though, and of course he would know how to destabilize or perhaps erase the shield in addition to how to cast it in the first place. Which was unfortunate considering it was undoubtedly the best defense she had in terms of strength versus speed of casting. Now she was stuck flying around blind since her method of invisibility robbed her of her sense of sight. She could not reveal herself in order to reorient herself; it would guarantee that both wizards would attack again, and right now they were probably focused on each other on the assumption that she was dead and gone.

Which…

That might actually work in her favor. So long as they thought her dead, they would not be on guard against her attacks. A surprise attack could be fatal. She just had to get a better lay of the land.

Rather than continue on at the angle she had first put herself, she rocketed straight up for several seconds as fast as she could. Only when she estimated she was far enough that neither of her enemies would see her unless they intentionally looked up did she abandon her invisibility to merely wrap herself in shadows; a lesser method of hiding, though one that would let her see what was going on.

Once more she wished her sonar here had the range it had back at Hogwarts, though now it had less to do with the awareness of her surroundings and more to do with being able to watch the flow of magic as spells were cast. Voldemort and Dumbledore were both going all out. Dumbledore stood behind a line of stone knights, conjured or transfigured presumably, and they were not marching at Voldemort so much as being flung his way. Conjuring a solid rock would probably be easier and faster, but the advantage of picking a replica of a human form was obvious by the way the knights picked themselves up and then attacked Voldemort on their own.

Not that Voldemort looked frightened by the growing horde. A disc of light surrounded him, and every knight that touched said disc was being ground down by an unseen force into sand. Sand that was then sucked into the air to join the rest of the mass already floating above Voldemort's head. Apparently he now decided he had enough, and an elaborate twirl of his wand caused the sand to burst into flames and then falling upon Dumbledore's location in a wave of molten glass. This in turn led Dumbledore to abandon his conjuration to carve a trench through the wall of fire, the glass solidifying in a protective shell around him while the rest splashed against one of the towers.

The fight was impressive, but there was something… off about it. It took another moment before Jen realized what was bothering her. The way they were fighting appeared almost staged, though she did not think they were trying to fool anyone. There was no audience to which they needed to pander. It was more that the way they were fighting was something they had done before, a give and take they must have established during the first war. They knew each other, had fought one another many times. They had a feel for how the other thought. And yet, despite that familiarity, despite that experience, they had never had a fight that ended in definite victory, for if that had ever happened the war would have ended long before this day. Left alone, this duel would never end.

She would have to tip the scales. Sliding down the side of one of the stands, she let her magic flow into the ground and towards her target. Between the two, one of them was the obvious better choice.

A scream pierced the air the same way that the spikes jutting up from the ground had pierced Dumbledore's feet. "Stay put," she muttered before returning her attention to Voldemort, who was thoroughly distracted by Dumbledore's pain and looking down at his wand. After all, as far as he knew, there should only be two of them here now, and most people would have jumped in on Dumbledore's side rather than attacking the old man. His confusion would not last for long, and eventually he would realize that they had not managed to kill her.

Dumbledore had more experience, but he did not have the heart of a monster the way she and Voldemort did. He was a man. He would hesitate when forced to kill. They would not, would rip out their victims' throats and revel in their blood, and that meant she needed to get rid of Voldemort first.

Voldemort's feet were ripped out from under him and into the sky, flipping him upside down and just coincidentally slamming his head into the ground. Right below him, where his feet had been a second ago, said ground split open. All it would take was letting go, and he would fall in head-first just in time for the cleft to slam shut again.

The spell holding him up broke, but not of her will. A dark wind billowed around Voldemort, almost as if all the shadows of the world were stuffed inside his robes and now had decided to carry him to safety. He rose unsteadily into the air, the experience of free flight clearly not something he had yet mastered but something he was getting more comfortable with by the second.

"Well. That's just not fair," she muttered.

"Show yourself!" he shouted, spinning around as though he would spot whoever it was who had attacked him. Sadly enough, that was not an impossibility. Her current spell was good enough when she had somewhere dark to hide, but it was meant solely to break up her outline and blacken her appearance. A sharp eye would find her eventually.

If she was doomed to be found, she might as well go out with a bang.

The tower next to her rumbled once before the wooden struts within ripped themselves free of the ground. The structure collapsed and fell apart until every seat and nail and scrap of cloth were whirling around in a vortex in the air, her hands tracing a circular path above her head. As she worked her spell, the long logs broke apart into chunks that turned into shards and from there palm-length splinters. Wood lost its color and its grain to leave only grey steel behind. Cloth rolled up and hardened. The spells Voldemort and Dumbledore both were hurling into the cloud destroyed wide swaths of her tornado, but it did not even touch the totality.

With a scream of triumph, she flung ten thousand needles at the two wizards. Neither of them were stupid, and glowing shields appeared to absorb the onslaught. Perfect. That was exactly what she wanted. She raced into the sky behind the needles. Eventually the last needle flew past Voldemort, and he looked up to find her plummeting at him in a ballistic arc and her right hand sparking with bright green lightning.

She launched her Killing Curse at him.

The Unforgiveables were dangerous for two reasons. First was their actual effect, though other spells could achieve similar or even the same result via different means. Second was their ability to bypass any shield spell and the comparable difficulty to conjure a physical defense on such short notice.

Sadly for everyone involved, her opponents for this fight were a cut above the norm. A solid disc appeared just in front of the reach of her curse, and even if the spell landed and drove Voldemort and the disc down towards the ground, it was not the same as killing him outright. She had revealed several cards in her hand that she could not take back.

A shape flung itself out from behind the shield scant seconds before it slammed into the ground. Voldemort rolled to a stop and popped back up to his feet. He also found himself only a dozen feet at most from Dumbledore. Jen knew exactly what he was going to do before he moved, and she dived so she might have the smallest chance to stop him. He aimed his wand and screamed the first audible incantation of the fight.

" _Avada Kedavra_!"

Dumbledore flicked his wand, but nothing happened. She was now close enough to see the dumbfounded expression on his face when the Deathstick simply refused to work. Green light engulfed him.

The light faded, and so did the light in his eyes.

Voldemort turned to her, and a sinking feeling pervaded her. The Elder Wand was crafted by Death himself to be unbeatable, and now it was to be taken by Voldemort and used against her.

Something in his being shifted, and he swung his wand wildly. Throwing up a shield, she thought she was prepared for anything he wanted to throw at her, but 'anything' did not include her world turning a bright blinding white. A dragon roared behind her head, and she forced her magic to dispel what could only be an illusion. Her vision shattered to reveal another world, this one a hellstorm of fire. This was another illusion, had to be, but she had never encountered an illusion so real. A gale-force wind struck her, and the heat threatened to sear her flesh from her bones. Her magic was also acting wildly, ice suffusing her limbs as though Death's power was attempting to take her over. She screamed her fury at whatever this was, and despite the large burns she could see and feel forming on her arms, she channeled everything she had into a shield in front of her. If she could create just a bubble of calm in this storm in which to _think_ —

The hellworld vanished. It was replaced by the real world, one where she was in agony, sitting in a widening pool of blood, and a length of wood was stabbed into the ground through her gut.

"I really do need to practice that." She tried to move away, only to scream when spikes along the length of the spear inside her shifted and tore more of her organs. Voldemort stepped closer, looking more ragged than he had any right to. "Illusions were never something I cared about, but finding out soul magic could emulate the nigh-unbreakable illusions of Gaueko? That's a good enough reason to brush up on my skills. Unfortunate that it takes time to ready the spell, but that's what normal illusions are for.

"Now then. _Accio_ wand, jewelry, accessories, secondary foci." Her blank wand and the bracelets she had conjured on herself were ripped away to fall in a pile at Voldemort's feet, and even the faint tugs on her arms from that were enough to shift her around the spear and make her gasp in pain. "I know all about your love of secondary foci, little Jennifer. It offers you unpredictability, especially when you use them in conjunction with your wand. It makes you more dangerous." He took a few steps closer and crouched so she could see his disappointed expression. "I wish you had joined me when I offered you the chance. I truly do. You would have been the perfect heir, or perhaps the perfect woman to bear an heir. We could have ruled this country, this whole bloody world, with an iron fist. Instead, you have to die."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, she could not hold back the grimace of disgust that took over her face.

He leveled his wand at her, and she knew she was going to die. There was no way out of this one. She was too weak and in too much pain to escape, and she could feel her strength slipping away as blood continued to leak out of her. If by some miracle she did manage to free herself, the hole in her belly meant she would bleed out faster than she could possibly heal herself. She had one chance to curse him, but her injury meant it would be the last thing she ever did. And if she was going to die anyway…

She might as well do something stupid.

"Nah sec'ny fo…"

Voldemort frowned at her unintelligible murmur. "What?" he demanded, huffing when she gave him a blurry glare. She did not even need to force it. He came closer, his wand still in his hand and pointed at her, but he was still close enough to touch if she wanted to. "What did you say?"

"Not secondary foci."

Her hand grabbed his, and the motion made her scream again. The pain from the spear was not the sole reason.

Jen had access to all the world's magic, every drop and erg. Power had never been her problem; it was conduction she lacked. If she touched a wand without keeping a tight rein on her magic, she would burn it to ash on accident. Channeling more magic than she could handle would destroy her the same way. She only ever let the tiniest trickle slide through her, and even as she had slowly increased her ability to withstand that power, she still barely scratched the surface of what was there right beneath her feet.

As soon as she moved her hand, she threw her connection to the planet as wide as it could possibly go.

Her soul ignited as though she were bathed in callous phoenix flame. Her body was nothing more than an embodiment of infinite agony. All that existed was the magic, the pain, and a pinprick of awareness where her skin touched his. Taking the power that was her death, she shoved it into him.

If she had to die, she was going to take this bastard with her.

They would meet the Baron together.

* * *

**Jen went full Cactuar for a second there. No, I'm not sorry.**

**Anyway. That's it. Cut. Fin. No more. The end. Everybody off this crazy train, we're done. Have a good day.**

**Yeah, no, come on. Of course I'm joking. If I ended the story here, somebody would hack FFN to track me down and murder me. We are almost to the end, though.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	35. End of the War

**Isa Lumitus, Bearmauls, elorielee, Simianpower:** Jen jumping out and revealing herself may not have been the most optimal method to fight, but you have to understand that this fight? It's the culmination of three years of hatred (four in Dumbledore's case), and she's reveling in it. Finally, she can throw away the last mask and show off exactly who she is and rub her enemies' faces in it.

* * *

**Chapter 35  
** **End of the War**

A cool breeze caressed her skin, and Jen opened her eyes to find white mist swirling all around her.

She pushed herself to a sitting position and cinched the silvery cloak looped around her waist a bit tighter. This was not the first time she had seen the Labyrinth, nor would it be the first time her patron Power offered her something with which to clothe herself, but this was a decidedly odd choice.

"Because it was not mine to offer," a nasal voice said from behind her. "Not except in the most technical sense."

She turned around on her rear and nodded her head at the skeletal figure. "Baron Samedi. Is Voldemort…?"

"The abomination accompanied you. I have already…" The Baron smirked, an awful expression on his ear-to-ear mouth. "… _welcomed_ him to my realm. I do believe he and I will become _close friends_ eventually. We will have many opportunities. He will, after all, be my guest for a long, _long_ time."

And that right there was why no one should ever want to attract Death's ire.

"My real question is what to do about you. You have assembled quite a collection over the last couple of hours, _prèt mwen_."

Collection? She looked down at her lap again. The cloak, she assumed, but one object did not a collection make. A slight movement found something under her thigh, and she pulled out a knobby wand. Why would she have a wand of all things with her? She had no need for it.

Wait… A wand, a cloak…

She reached up to her neck and the choker the Baron had placed there two years prior.

"The Stone, a gift from my hand for one of my servants. The Cloak, heirloom of destruction, which passed from a fallen boy to his only heir. His sister. The Wand, taken through murder from a phoenix's pet and taken once more through murder again." He pulled a couple of puffs from his cigar. "The Mistress of Death, some would call you. What do you plan to do with them?"

Jen could not help herself. She laughed. " _Mistress_ would be right, though not how they mean the term. I have been that since you chose me as your Bridge. I am no fool, Baron. I remember what you told me two years ago. The Hallows carry no power except that which you gave them. If you expected me to try laying claim to your service, I must disappoint you. I have no interest in joining Voldemort in his torment."

The Baron raised his hands and clapped twice. "Good girl. A simple test, one to which I had already given you the answer, but you might be surprised by how many people fall sway to simple temptations and lose all vestiges of sense. But you merely told me what you will not do with them. What _will_ you do?"

That was a valid question, she supposed, though she was leery of keeping them at all. Each item was cursed in its own way, and what they could be used for she had no need. She relied on no wand to cast her spells nor any cloak when she wished to move unseen. She would do little with them. They would be talking pieces at best, rubbish to be thrown away at worst.

All they were good for was causing misery, and taking full advantage of that possibility required a mind more devious than even hers.

Untying the Cloak, she held it in one hand and the Wand in the other. Both hands she stretched out to the Baron. "I have no use for them, my lord, nor could I distribute them in such a way that they provide the most amusement. I offer them all back to you to do with as you see fit."

Death tutted. "If you are sure." The two Treasures burst into smoke before she could wonder if his comment was one of actual disapproval, and more smoke wafted up from around her neck and then snaked over to his hand. "I cannot say that I am truly disappointed, however. I already have ideas for what I might do with the Wand and Cloak. But what to do with you?"

He turned the Stone over a few times before meeting her eyes. "You kept this safe, just as I asked you to do. I will now task you to do so again." Her left hand was pulled down slightly, and she glanced at it to find a silver ring bearing the Stone on her middle finger. It was going to be much harder to hide it now than when it was a choker, but she supposed that was the point. Not that she really needed to hide it now, not when she had already outed herself as a priestess. "And this?" she asked, bringing her hand to the necklace.

"That you can keep. It will be punishment enough for not making an interesting decision for what to do with your prizes."

She shook her head, but before she could say anything the reality of her situation caught up with her. She looked down at the ring. Why would he give her this? She was _dead_. No one except the mindless dead and damned would ever see her wear this. As a servant of Death, she could not even leave a proper ghost behind.

"Baron, have I completed the task you gave me to your satisfaction?"

"You have."

Jen nodded. "Then have I earned the right to become a revenant?" That was the only explanation that made sense. As a revenant, she could freely pass from the Labyrinth to the world of the living. She could be seen by other people. That must be why the Baron still wanted her to bear his mark. She would serve as a spectral prophet.

He snickered, the grating noise catching her off guard. "A revenant? Not at all. I am not nearly done with you yet."

"But… I'm dead."

"And? This is not your first death, girl. Your soul leaves your body every time you come to speak with me here. It is merely the first time your body was in such a state that you could not return to it."

So she just needed to wake up, essentially? She would not argue with that, but it still left the issue of her body being incompatible with continued living. If she could return to her body whenever she wanted but her body was unable to be lived in, she was just as trapped as she first assumed.

Smoke curled around his mouth. "We made a bargain, did we not? You kill the abomination; I grant you three rituals without cost. The restoration of a corpse? You already know that to be well within my power, even when it has exploded across the ground as yours did." His grin widened.

"How much do you want your body to be intact once again?"

* * *

"We would have to keep a constant eye on them, Amelia. A Stunning Spell won't last more than ten, fifteen minutes."

"I'm well aware of that, Mad-Eye," Amelia said, "but it isn't like we have an excess of options. We managed to ambush the majority of the Death Eaters, which means we have over a hundred people that we have to keep under lock and key until we have proof that Voldemort is dead. The last war showed us that was the only way to get them to stop fighting, even if they immediately claimed to have been under the Imperius Curse. Now, if you have a hefty reserve of Draught of the Living Death hidden on you, I'd love to hear it, but otherwise—"

The doors of the Great Hall opening grabbed her and Mad-Eye's attention, and they could not help but stare as Jennifer Black stumbled inside. Most of her weight was supported by the gnarled walking stick she had in her hands, and her balance did not appear to be helped by a large sack swaying from her wrist. As though to confuse the issue, she was also wearing a dress that looked like it would only be at home during a Solstice Ball. The girl staggered down the center aisle, either oblivious to the Hit Wizards who were moving to intercept her or just outright ignoring them. The men hit a barrier and were shoved backwards, and Black kept moving until she was in front of the front table. Her eyes met Amelia's. "We need to talk."

Amelia's first instinct was to blow the girl off, though she forced herself to master it. This girl was no simple schoolgirl, even if she was the same age as Susan. She was a dark witch who had proven herself dangerous on multiple occasions, and right now she was on their side. She would rather not challenge that allegiance while the situation was so unsteady. Still, there was a time and a place for these conversations, and when there was a Dark Lord still wandering around was not one of them. "Whatever it is, it needs to wait," she said as she looked back down at the list of Death Eaters they had captured. "Unless it's a matter of life or death—"

She jerked back when a _severed head_ landed on her parchments, the head rolling so she she could stare into a pair of crimson eyes above a flat, snake-like nose.

Slowly she lifted her gaze to find Black resting her chin on the back of one hand, which in turn was on the top of her stick. "I certainly consider it a matter of death, but maybe that's just me," the younger witch drawled.

"I've got a bunch of questions about all this," grunted Mad-Eye, somehow less shocked by the remains in front of them, "but let's start with something easy. We know Albus was taking Voldemort somewhere else to fight. Where is he?"

Black's grin drooped and crumbled. She looked almost embarrassed. "Do you have some space I can use?"

A nearby table was cleared, and she shuffled over to lay her walking stick on top. Pulling her wand from her sleeve, she cleared her throat and waved it in an elaborate loop over the staff. Said staff rippled and unfolded into an elderly wizard with a long white beard, his hands clasped over his chest and bearing his iconic wand.

"What happened?" Amelia demanded.

"He died."

She glared at the girl, but after a minute her glare lightened somewhat. Black had taken a few steps backwards and now was leaning most of her weight onto another table. Why, she asked herself, did a seventeen-year-old girl suddenly need to stagger around on a walking stick? "Are you okay?" she asked instead.

Black laughed, the sound surprising herself if the look on her face that was any indication. "I just fought a Dark Lord to the death _after_ Dumbledore was already wailing on him and pissed him off. A Dark Lord who has who knows how many kills to his name. All this after I helped fight the Death Eaters who were attacking the castle, including my Baron-be-damned mother who I had to kill with my own two hands. No, I'm not okay. _I hurt_ , and right now I want nothing more than to go to sleep for a week and pretend this was all a bad dream." Her diatribe apparently burned out her anger, and Black reached up to scrub her face with her hands. "I'm sorry, Minister. I didn't mean to lose my temper like that. I'll tell you what happened, but can I get a shower or something first? I don't know how coherent I would be right now."

"No," Mad-Eye said, surprising both of them. "We need that information sooner rather than later. But," he amended with a sigh, "I suppose we should hold this debrief in the hospital wing."

* * *

It was surprising, Jen realized, how different the Hogwarts hospital wing could be with a simple change in the staffing. She was used to coming in and finding Madam Pomfrey bustling around, demanding this and that and generally being a nosy if obviously well-intentioned borderline annoyance. But now? Now Pomfrey lay still beneath a white sheet in the back of the room with many others, the matron dead at the end of Bellatrix's wand, and the Healers brought in by the DMLE had more important things on their minds tonight than bedside manners.

Sirius gave her hand a squeeze, his thoughts obviously going in the same direction.

Her unexpected discomfort was not helped by the fact that there were a number of familiar if unpleasant faces surrounding her bed. Her family was the only island of support in the sea of distrust surrounding her, Sirius and Cissy taking her left and right sides respectively while Ted and Andi stood behind Sirius. Dora, sadly, had been tapped to keep an eye on the Death Eaters that had been captured, and from what Andi said Dora was still flaunting her natural hair to put the fear of Bellatrix in them. At the foot of her bed sat Amelia Bones, Mad-Eye Moody, and Rufus Scrimgeour, the head of the DMLE. Behind them, in turn, stood representatives of the Order of the Phoenix, namely McGonagall, the adult Potters – the only living Potters if she understood the situation correctly – and a red-headed man and woman she thought were the Weasleys' parents, but she could be mistaken on that point. She knew of them but had never met either of them. The entirety of the Order had wanted to barge into the hospital wing and hear the story, but the squad of Hit Wizards posted at the door were keeping the numbers a little more manageable.

Honestly, the most interesting aspect of all this was that Mad-Eye has positioned himself as part of the Ministry group, not the Order.

The Healer straightened up from where he had been working to put her left knee back into some semblance of working order. It had been in better shape when she woke up again than it was immediately after she all but immolated herself killing Voldemort, but it was still agonizing to walk on. "That's as much as I can do for that right now. I want to check on it again this afternoon, and no eating or drinking for the next several hours yet, Miss Black. I still don't like the look of that gut wound, no matter how effective your patch job was. We need to know that it's holding intact before we risk food exiting into your abdominal cavity."

When she had accepted the Baron's offer to put her body back together, she had assumed it would go back to its normal state, not still bearing severe but not life-threatening injuries. It was annoying, but in hindsight it was probably for the best. Injuries sold the story that she had fought and killed Voldemort. A lack of them could point towards something else, such as the possibility that Dumbledore had defeated Voldemort with his dying breath and she was just stealing the credit.

"Thank you, Jameson," Bones told him while she waved him away. "In a normal situation, I would give you more time to recover, Miss Black, but today is anything but normal. We need you to tell us what happened between you, Voldemort, and Dumbledore."

"Where to start?" she thought out loud. This was the last hurdle, the only challenge before she could rest. Dumbledore and Voldemort were both dead. All she had to do was make sure she spun a story where no one could pin the blame for Dumbledore's death on her. No one who carried any legitimacy, at least, because someone or another in the Order was going to blame her for something no matter what. "When Voldemort announced that he would spare everyone else in Hogwarts if you and Dumbledore surrendered yourselves to him, I was curious about what would happen. I knew he was lying, just as everyone with a working brain in their head did, but that didn't change the fact that the offer was there. I have a scrying mirror, have for years, so I scried Dumbledore to hear firsthand what the plan was. That was how I found out he was going to try whisking Voldemort away and leave the rest of the Death Eaters to you.

"Because I was already watching him, I knew he took a portkey to the old Quidditch World Cup stadium and was turning it into the arena for his and Voldemort's duel. When he left to execute his part of the plan, I went there and hid myself in the stands."

"Why?" asked Scrimgeour, looking at her suspiciously. "A fight like that isn't a spectator sport. You're a seventeen-year-old girl—"

"Who is also a trained, licensed dark witch. The only such witch, at least that I'm aware of, in the Ministry's service." The expression she gave Scrimgeour's narrowed eyes was eloquent in its blandness. "I have skills that no one else on this side of the fight does. That was one reason I went there in the first place. A second reason is because, as someone Voldemort tried to kill personally, I have a vested interest in watching him die. The third reason is because Dumbledore has never made his opinions on lethal force a secret, and I wasn't going to sit back and let Dumbledore try redeeming Voldemort, die for his principles, and then have Voldemort come back to the castle to finish the slaughter he started. He was isolated from his followers and caught off guard. There was going to be no better time or place for him to die, and I intended to see it through when Dumbledore balked."

The Potters and Weasleys all looked aghast at her, though whether it was because of her admission that she was a master of the Dark Arts, that the Ministry knew and approved of her skills, or that she had gone specifically for when Dumbledore lost his nerve was up for debate.

Scrimgeour sent a quick look at his boss and then back at her, but whatever he was thinking he kept to himself.

"What happened then?" Bones pressed.

"They fought. It was interesting to watch, that's for sure. Dumbledore actually had the upper hand and was pushing Voldemort back when his noble idiocy kicked in. He offered Voldemort one last chance to _'turn away from the Darkness'_. Voldemort acted like he was actually considering it, and from there it went exactly as anyone with common sense could have predicted it would go." She shrugged. "Dumbledore thought Voldemort's hesitation was genuine and let down his guard. That was when Voldemort cursed him. When I jumped in, he was down in the dirt and turning blue."

"Then why didn't you help him?!" the Weasley woman demanded. Her shrill tone caught Bones and Scrimgeour by surprise if their winces were anything to go by. Mad-Eye just grimaced. "You left him to die! You might as well have killed him yourself!"

She had _no_ idea how much better that would have felt. "Yes, I left him there. Had I tried to help, I would have thrown away the element of surprise, and Voldemort would have just killed us both. Dumbledore's death was an inevitability as soon as that curse landed."

Mad-Eye coughed, the sound distracting everyone from the silencing charm he cast on the missus Weasley. "And instead of helping, you did…?"

"Spell concentration tied into a bolt of lightning, lots of short-range Apparation, and some runic casting. I tricked him into stumbling into a maze of thurisaz runes that I had set up as bombs. I unfortunately didn't get totally out of range of the explosions, hence…" Jen trailed off with a motion to her leg. "But it definitely did worse to him."

"The head you brought to us. What did you do with the rest of him?"

"Minister, Voldemort raised Inferii. I've heard enough horror stories about what necromancy is capable of that I did not want to leave even the slightest chance that he could somehow be brought back." She smirked, just a little bit, at both her joke and the opportunity it provided. This was the best way she could think of to clean up the evidence of their battle, and she did not even have to hide it! "I took the head and cremated everything else with Fiendfyre."

The loud condemnations from the Order were expected. They also did nothing to detract from the proud pat on the shoulder Cissy gave her.

"No, Rufus, I did not give her _carte blanche_ ," she heard Bones telling Scrimgeour while Mad-Eye tried and failed to contain the Order's righteous indignation. "She was already evaluated and licensed by the International Confederation of Wizards. All I did was recognized the validity of her license and permit her to act within their constraints."

And handed her a large amount of latitude in the process. She offered the Minister a small bow. "I hope I did not disappoint."

The look Bones shot her was not quite a glare, but not for lack of trying. It was just hard to be angry at someone who had not only won the war for the Ministry but also asked for such small things in return.

"If that's all the questions you have for my heiress, Minister, I would appreciate it if everyone could leave," Sirius said with another squeeze of her hand. "We've all had a very long morning with a long day still ahead of us, but I think Jen has had one of the longer days already. She needs the chance to rest."

Bones nodded at his politely worded demand. "That is fair. I and the rest of the Ministry do thank you for your efforts in this war, Miss Black. You have done your House proud today. Once we get a functioning government set up again, I would not be surprised if there was an Order of Merlin coming to you." Because no matter how she felt about the result personally, the formalities had to be observed.

The Minister turned on her heel and walked out the door, Scrimgeour and several of the Hit Wizards guarding the room following her, though a decent number remained at their posts. It was obvious the Weasleys still had things to say, but Cissy and Andi both drawing their wands showed the immediate consequences of going through with it. "Everyone includes the Order," Cissy told them in a cold voice.

Obviously, the death of Voldemort destroyed whatever peace her favorite aunt had reached with Dumbledore's sycophants.

Mad-Eye turned to stare down the rest of his crew before ushering them out, and Jen made a mental note to let him know when – if – she ever built a temple and started leading services. Despite his stated ambivalence to the idea of religion, she had the feeling that he would find comfort in the idea of forces more powerful than him working in the world. Even if one of those forces was Death.

Only two members of the Order remained, and Sirius sighed. "Everyone meant you, too."

"Now, now, Sirius, don't be hasty," she said, giving his hand a pat and smiling coldly at the Potters. In the same motion she erected a privacy charm so they would not be interrupted by some well-meaning sod. "They can stay for an extra moment."

"You… want them to stay?" Cissy looked back and forth in confusion between her and the growing expressions of relief on the Potters' faces.

"For a moment, yes. You see, I figured out where we were going wrong. We were cutting them off before they had a chance to really say anything." This seemed to put the Potters at ease even more, which was a shame. "What I realized is that they aren't reasonable people. They're Gryffindors, no offense Sirius—"

"Some taken."

"—which means they don't do well bottling up their thoughts. We'll let them say their piece, and once they've gotten it off their chests we can send them on their way again with the knowledge that they'll be less likely to start something unfortunate."

The Potters' shoulders slumped, but they did not look surprised. Apparently they _could_ learn after all.

"Besides, I already have a good idea what they want to talk about, so that should speed up the conversation."

Lily blinked at her. "You… already have an idea?"

"Weren't you listening? I was scrying Dumbledore as soon as I could. I caught Mad-Eye telling him about it. Danny dead, failed human transfiguration, boy splattered everywhere, blah blah blah."

"He's your brother!" Lily snapped.

"And your point is?" asked Jen with some degree of honesty. "We were consanguineous. We weren't family. We didn't even like each other. I don't have so much spare sympathy that I'll waste it on someone I wanted nothing to do with."

James put his hand on Lily's arm in an effort to calm her down, although the look on his face said that he was no more pleased with her flippant attitude on this subject. "That doesn't change the fact that your brother is dead. Whether you liked him or not, he was your twin. Now you're an only child."

This was exactly where she thought this was going. "More germane to this conversation, I'm _your_ only child. Your only hope for your House to continue past your death."

"Why do you always try to turn everything into Houses and politics?! Can't you just talk to us like… like regular people?" he demanded.

Jen rolled her eyes. Like how a child would talk to her parents; that was what he really meant. "Because the lens of politics makes it that less tempting to give in to the urge to make your lives a living hell. Both of you have a talent for pushing my buttons. It would almost be impressive if it didn't make me want to strangle you."

"Don't you ever get tired of hating us?" Lily asked with a sigh, and the disappointed tone of her voice made Jen want to punch her. "Hatred eats away at you. It burns you up from the inside out. It's exhausting. Do you honestly like spending all that effort keeping your hatred alive?"

Spoken like a true light witch. Still, she resisted loosing the first response that came to mind because the second might actually have a chance of success. "I'd happily stop hating you if you would just give me what I want."

"What you want?" James asked. "Well, what is it? A public apology? A recounting to the press about what we did all those years ago? What?"

"It's even easier than that." She crooked a finger to urge them closer. "All I want is one thing. Leave. Me. Alone.

"The two of you have failed to recognize or perhaps accept a fundamental truth. Jennifer Potter is dead. She died that Halloween. She died again in '85, and once more in '86. Even that last time, there was very little you would recognize as your daughter left in her. She's dead and gone, and nothing can ever bring her back. I'm what was left after all those deaths, but I'm not her. I can't fill her shoes, I can't give you what you want, and I don't really want to waste our time trying. Even if I wanted us to try the whole family thing with you two, none of us would be happy. I don't put a mask on to hurt you or make you upset. I don't care enough to do so. This _is how I am_."

The rest of the Blacks nodded with that statement, and Sirius added, "She's a right tyrant when she wants to be."

She rolled her eyes and elbowed him. "Let's be honest, James, Lily. You don't want _me_ , with my issues and hang ups and opinions. The things you've told me make that abundantly clear, and that's part of the reason I get so tired of you constantly harping on this. You want the daughter you could have had once upon a time, a daughter who acts and thinks like you do and does things you approve of. That's just not going to happen with me. The daughter you're looking for would be like the late Ginny Weasley, a nice polite Gryffindor girl who supports the Light as the epitome of everything that is good and right in the world and looks forward to being a housewife. I'm a dark witch who worships Death and whose interest is rediscovering lost and forgotten magics. That's who you keep saying you want to bring into your family.

"All that would happen if we went through with what you claim to want is that you would be miserable, my family would be miserable, and I would be miserable."

"So what are we supposed to do?" asked Lily, her haughtiness and demands fading away in the face of the breadth of the gulf that separated them. "If we believed you that everything about Jenny is dead, what's next?"

"Do whatever you think best," Jen said with a sigh. "Mourn her. Forget all about her. Name a puppy after her. I don't care. Just leave me out of it, and for once let your daughter's soul rest in peace."

* * *

**Just the epilogue to go now.**

**Silently Watches out.**


	36. Epilogue

**Merry Christmas to you all. This is my gift to you, the end of our six-year journey together.**

* * *

**Epilogue  
** **Age of Darkness**

"Ilya."

Ilya Black looked up from her Arithmancy notes with a glare. There was only one person who would be bothering her now of all times, not even a month away from her OWLs. Particularly when it was her worst class she was trying to study for. Indeed, the boy who stood in front of her was none other than one of her cousins and the eventual heir-apparent. "What do you want, Vega?" she asked with a sigh as she closed her notes.

Anyone else she would ignore, but Vega could be such a whiner when he did not get his way.

He scowled at her, or more precisely at the tree she sat beneath. It was her favorite place in Hogwarts, the great yew growing in the middle of the courtyard. Riddle's Folly was just as much a part of the history of the castle as the Great Hall and the Astronomy Tower, but other parts of the school were not routinely patrolled by the resident ghosts to be sure the knots on the trunk that resembled screaming faces never grew to become anything more. Most students considered it at least a little creepy and avoided it except around Halloween time.

It was no surprise to anyone who knew her that it was her favorite place to study. Her great-great-grandmother had laughed herself silly when she heard about it.

"Grandfather is summoning us both home." Vega held out a slip of parchment, and Ilya cast her eyes over the short message. His voice lost some of his customary pompousness. "It's Gran. She's dying."

Gran. Not 'Grandmother', wife to their mutual grandfather and the Head of their House. Gran. Their great-great-grandmother. Ilya rolled her eyes with a soft smile. "What did you expect? She's over a hundred and fifty years old. Even she had to die some time."

"You're not surprised," he said accusingly. "You knew she wasn't going to survive this sickness."

She shook her head. Oh, she knew. So had Gran. Everyone had their allotted span on this world, some longer than others, but this was the end of Gran's. She could feel it in her soul, the ice-cold slivers stirring as the hour drew nearer.

Gran had done great work over the course of her life, but now their master and their lord was calling his servant home to the Labyrinth.

* * *

Marcus Longbottom stepped through the emerald flames into a darkened room. Dark sheets were draped lightly over some of the furniture, and in the morbid atmosphere the elaborate family tree that wrapped around the walls took on an even eerier cast than it normally would. His wife came out of the Floo behind him. "Are you sure we must do this?" he asked.

"Yes, Marc, we need to do this," she said with a fond sigh. "Don't worry. Nobody is going to throw you in an oven and eat you for being a Longbottom. Your grandparents are the only ones who still hold on to that silly grudge between the families."

"They didn't have any grudge against you," he reminded her.

"Because they focused on my maiden name and _conveniently_ forget that as a Tonks I'm still a member of the House of Black. It's as much as your grandfather would allow himself to bend on that score, I'm sure." She looped her arm in his and pulled him towards the doorway and the hall beyond. "Besides, this isn't a time for personal grudges. Not when the Lady is on her deathbed. Boggle?"

A pop signaled the appearance of a house elf. "Miss Rachel. Sir. You bes expected. Mistress be in her suite upstairs."

Snakes and morbid paintings abounded in the stairwell, reminding Marcus with every step that he was venturing deeper and deeper into the lair of one of the Darkest witches alive. He, and most of the Light he was sure, had grown up on horror stories of the Lady Black. A killer who dedicated her murders to Death itself, an assured Dark Lady who had managed to hide herself behind the Ministry's influence. All lies according to Rachel, and of the two of them he could admit that she was the only one who knew the former Lady of House Black personally and was probably the better judge of her character. It was still hard to shake off prejudices that had lasted for generations.

They reached the top floor and a door that stood cracked open, and his wife raised a hand to knock before they were interrupted by a creaky voice. "Come in, Rachel."

He glanced at her only to see her shake her head. "She always knows everything that happens in this place. You get used to it."

Behind the door was a room that had obviously been expanded to allow everyone within to be comfortable. The largest portion of the crowd was the Blacks, of course, though he could also see Rachel's parents sitting and talking with the current Head of the House. Also in attendance was a set of blonds that could only be the head of the Lovegood clan and the more recognizable Lord Davis and his children, longtime allies of the Black family.

"Rachel. Come here, my dear." Rachel approached the white-haired woman lying in the bed, and despite the matriarch's milky eyes she showed no hesitation in reaching up and grasping her hands. "I had hoped you would be here, too. That must be your beau, then?"

"No, Lady Jen. He's my husband, as you well know. He hasn't been my _beau_ in three years."

"How would I know? I'm just an old woman. I can't know everything, especially about a man I've never met." She winked at Rachel, the conspiratorial grin on her face one that would belong on a woman a century younger. "A Longbottom, wasn't it? And he's here with you. Courage grew in that family over the generations."

Marcus could not tell for sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or an insult, but he nodded his head toward her anyway. She probably did not see it, but considering how she seemed to be preternaturally aware of what was going on, he would never bet his last galleon on it.

"Head Priestess?" asked a brown-haired man who had been sitting out of sight behind the contingent of Blacks. He looked familiar in a vague manner, though Marcus knew he had never laid eyes on the man. Some of those features looked extremely similar to his best friend's, Toby Granger. One of the 'Dark Grangers', perhaps? Even growing up with Toby and having Sunday lunches at their estate, he still did not know any of the details of the schism within that family other than the Light Grangers blamed it on the Blacks. "Is there anything else you wish me to convey?"

"No, Dante, that will be sufficient. Ernest knows what our flock needs in order to growing. There is a reason I passed my responsibilities on to him." The priest or attendant or whatever he was for Death's cult nodded and departed with a few muttered words.

"Polaris." The current Lord Black, grandson to the famous matriarch, took a few steps closer and knelt at the side of her bed. "I must admit, I had my doubts when I abdicated my position to you. You were young, hot-headed, impulsive."

Marcus felt his eyebrows rise. Polaris Black was widely known to be a cold, calculating wizard. Snakes and sharks could learn from him. And yet this woman was calling him hot-headed and impulsive?

"I have endeavored to grow past the failings of my younger self," Polaris said.

"In that, child, you have succeeded beyond your or my wildest expectations. There is no one in whose hands our family would be safer. I am proud of you, Polaris. It is up to you now to keep this circus we call a family in line."

"A greater challenge you have never given me, but I shall do my best."

She smiled at him before giving him a light push back toward the rest of the family. "Ilya, attend me."

"I am ever at your side, Gran," spoke a young woman, taking Polaris's place.

The matriarch's expression shifted too quickly for Marcus to make sense of before another smile, sharper than the one she gave Polaris, took its place. "Ilya. You are so much like Christiana that it hurts. She would be so proud of you were she still among us."

"I hope so."

"I _know_ so. You grow more and more like your mother as the years pass. I, too, could not be prouder of you." There was a significance here that Marcus knew he was missing, for despite the comments none of the other Blacks seemed congratulatory or envious. If anything, most of them seemed wary. At least the Lovegoods and Davises seemed as equally confused as he was.

The former Lady Black slipped a silver ring from her left hand and placed it on the girl's. "You know what you must do. _Pa kite Baron an bliye, epi pa bliye benediksyon li bay yo._ "

"Never, my lady."

She patted the girl's hands. A bird flapped into the room, and at first Marcus thought it was a dove before it landed onto the woman's chest. Doves did not bear black stripes. Instead it was a raven, one old enough that much of its plumage had lost its color. The matriarch sighed and ran one finger through its breast feathers. "My time has come, I'm afraid. I must depart to Death's side."

"Do you wish us to give you privacy in which to rest?" asked Polaris.

The woman chuckled, and the bird began to glow with an eldritch light. A second later, that light flickered into blue and white flames. "I will be gone before you could clear the room."

Those flames roared with hunger and poured forth over the woman. In moments she was obscured, but she gave no scream or sound of pain as her skin and bones alit like kindling. The flames twisted upon themselves, collapsing instead of spreading, and from deep within the flames Marcus could start to see an image of a younger woman with head full of black hair. The vision wavered as the fires stretched again, unfurling into large wings and a head with a coal-black eye.

He was not the only one to gasp, though perhaps for a different reason. There was no possible way that he was watching the birth of a phoenix, and especially not with the death of one of the Darkest women to ever walk the earth.

The firebird opened its beak and let out a triumphant shriek. A single flap of its wings lifted it off the bed. The flames from which it was made lost their form and spiraled inwards. Like the ouroboros of legend, they consumed themselves.

And then there was nothing left.

* * *

 **Last Creole Corner:** "Do not let the Baron be forgotten, and do not forget the blessings he bestows."

**I have no plans at this moment to write anything about what happened in the century prior to the epilogue, though we'll see what my muse says. This just felt like the appropriate point in which to end the story.**

**It has been a joy and an honor to write this saga and share it with you, and I am thankful for every review and message you guys have sent me. I am a much better writer today than I was when I first set Jen's story to the page, and it is all thanks to you.**

**Now, just because this story is done does not mean that I'm done writing. Far, far from it. As I think I've mentioned before, my next project is "Eternal Fantasy", and I've already posted the prologue slash first chapter for that. I hope to see you there.**

**Silently Watches out.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew that was a long road! Thanks so much guys for reading and responding, love you all!! 
> 
> No idea what I'll work on now. I've got a couple of stories half complete which I might post once I've finished, but unfortunately my muse is a selfish bitch who only gets productive when I've got zero time... 
> 
> Anyway, thanks guys and happy reading!!


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